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THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 


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THE    HOSTS 

OF   THE   LORD 


BY 


FLORA    ANNIE    STEEL 

AUTHOR  OF  "  ON  THE  FACE  OF  THE  WATERS,"  "  MISS  STUART'S 
LEGACY,"  "  THE  FLOWER  OF  FORGIVENESS,"  ETC. 


THE   MACMILLAN    COMPANY 

LONDON :  MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  Ltd. 
1900 

All  rights  reserved 


Copyright,  1899, 
By  FLORA  ANNIE  STEEL. 

Copyright,  1900, 
By  the  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


NortoootJ  ^res8 

J.  8.  Cushing  &  Co.  -  Berwick  &  Snutk 
Norwood  Mass.  U-S.A. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  A  Shadow i 

II.  "He  SHALL  FEED  HIS   FlOCK  LIKE  A  SHEPHERD  "  12 

III.  Driftwood 27 

IV.  Under-currents 37 

V.  The  "Dee-Puk-Rag" 50 

VI.  Alpha  and  Omega 63 

VII.  The  World's  Desire 69 

VIII.  Falling  Stars 80 

IX.  Out  of  the  Past 92 

X.  The  Pivots  of  Life 105 

XI.  Wheels  within  Wheels 117 

XII.  The  Church  Militant 129 

XIII.  At  the  Gates 142 

XIV.  Miracle  Mongers 156 

XV.  Oh  !  DEM  Golden  Slippers  !      .        .        .        .166 

XVI.  Echoes 179 

XVII.  The  Pool  of  Immortality        ....  192 

XVIII.  Adrift 202 

XIX.  Juliet 214 

XX.  Trapped 225 

XXI.  Margherita 237 

V 


433 


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VI  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXII.  A  Monopoly 249 

XXIII.  The  Search-Light 259 

XXIV.  Beyond  the  Shadow 271 

XXV.  Dawn 284 

XXVI.  Foiled 297 

XXVII.  L' Addio  del  Marito 311 

XXVIII.  The  Truth 328 


THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 


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THE    HOSTS   OF   THE    LORD 

CHAPTER   I 

A    SHADOW 

"  Understand  !  Of  course  you  don't.  I  don't, 
though  I've  been  here  two  years.  -  And  what's  more,  I 
don't  want  to,"  retorted  a  rather  undersized  Englishman, 
whose  white  drill  suit  made  him  look  like  a  stem  to  the 
huge  mushroom  of  a  pith  hat  which  he  wore.  Despite 
this  protection  his  face  was  brown  exceedingly,  and 
faintly  wrinkled  through  sheer  exposure  to  sun-bright, 
sun-dried  air.  The  fact  enhanced  the  monkey  type  of 
his  features,  and  made  his  clear,  light-blue  eyes  —  so  set 
that  they  were  shadowless  below  and  cavernous  above 
—  look  quite  aggressively  cool,  inquisitive,  intelligent. 

"So  long  as  we  don't  understand  them,"  he  went  on, 
*'  and  they  don't  understand  us,  we  jog  along  the  same 
path  amicably,  like  —  well !  like  the  pilgrims  to  the 
*  Cradle  of  the  Gods,'  and  the  telegraph-posts  to  the 
Adjutant  General's  office  up  the  road  yonder  —  and  I'll 
trouble  you  to  cram  more  space  than  that  between  two 
earthly  poles !  No !  It  is  when  we  begin  to  have 
glimmerings  that  the  deuce  and  all  comes  in  —  "  He 
paused  in  the  molten  gold  of  sunlight,  which  made  the 
yellow  sand,  the  corn-coloured  tussocks  of  tiger-grass 
still  yellower  and  still  more  corn -coloured,  to  glance 
round,  as  if  measuring  the  distance  between  the  long, 
low  line  of  mud  enclosure  they  had  left  but  a  few  hun- 
dred yards  behind  —  yet  which,  already,  was  losing  itself 
in  an  inimitable  sand  stretch  beyond — and  a  bigger  tuft 
in  the  sand  stretch  ahead;  a  tuft  of  spear-points    and 


2  /,  : :  .friiE,-ifosTS,OF  ti(e  lord 

horses,  bayonets  and  men,  waiting  beside  the  first  faint 
semblance  of  a  reed-paved  road.  Then  he  took  out  his 
watch.  Apparently  he  found  leisure  at  his  disposal,  for 
he  walked  on.  **  There's  a  nursery  rhyme  they  taught 
me,"  he  continued,  **when  my  moral  nature  was  at 
the  mercy  of  any  fool  who  chose  to  take  an  interest  in  it 
—  'Biit  if  poor  Pussy  understood^  she  d  be,  indeed,  a 
naughty  ere  attire  !  '  It  didn't  run  so  consecutively,  of 
course  ;  in  fact  *  creature  '  rhymed  to  *  teach  her '  — 
but  I  learnt  it  that  way.  Children  do  that  sort  of  thing 
a  sight  deal  oftener  than  their  elders  think." 

The  younger  of  the  two  men  in  uniform  with  whom 
he  was  walking  laughed  —  the  honest,  elated,  conscious 
laugh  of  one  who  has  not  many  good  stories  about  him- 
self, and  happens  on  an  opportunity  for  telling  one  of 
them. 

*'  /  used  to  say,  *  Six  days  shalt  thy  neighbour  do  all  that 
thou  hast  to  do,  and  the  seventh  day  shalt  thou  do  no 
Tnanner — '  " 

**  Shut  up,  Lance !  "  interrupted  his  elder  companion 
with  a  laugh.  "  It  is  a  ripping  excuse  for  your  intoler- 
able laziness,  but  I  don't  believe  —  " 

"  Fact,  I  assure  you,"  protested  Lance  Carlyon  ag- 
grievedly,  "  and  considering  I  really  thought  that  was  the 
proper   version   for  ten  years  of   my  life,  I  — " 

Dr.  George  Dillon  took  off  his  mushroom  hat  sud- 
denly, and  wiped  his  forehead  as  if  to  smooth  away 
the  wrinkles  which  his  smiles  had  brought  to  it. 
"  Lordy !  It's  a  queer  world,"  he  put  in.  "  There  is 
really  no  good  in  understanding  most  things.  As  for 
this  place  — !  Great  Scott !  What  would  happen  if 
my  fifteen  hundred  scoundrels,  whom  you  saw  digging 
like  babes  in  the  open  just  now,  were  to  understand  that 
I — one  Englishman  in  charge  —  had  virtually  no  force 
majeure  —  " 

"  Don't  insult  us,  Dillon  ! "  remonstrated  Captain 
Vincent  Dering,  a  certain  swagger  underlying  his  jest. 
**  Eshwara  is  a  garrison  town,  remember,  now ;  I'm 
commandant,  and  Carlyon's  staff — " 


A  SHADOW  3 

He  had,  in  fact,  ridden  that  morning  as  far  as  Dr. 
Dillon's  house  in  charge  of  a  troop  of  native  cavalry  and 
some  Sikh  pioneers  who  had  gone  on,  under  a  native 
officer,  to  take  up  their  temporary  quarters  in  the  half- 
ruined  Fort,  just  beyond  the  old  town  of  Eshwara.  And 
now,  having  thus  secured  their  breakfasts,  he  and  his 
lieutenant  were  on  their  way  towards  the  horses  and 
escort  they  had  bidden  await  them  at  the  boat  bridge 
which  lay  between  them  and  their  destination.  For 
George  Dillon  was  in  control  of  a  large  industrial  gaol, 
whose  inmates  had  for  months  been  digging  the  head 
works  of  a  canal,  which  was  to  take  off  just  below  the 
town,  on  the  farther  side  of  the  river. 

"  Are  you  }  "  replied  the  doctor,  with  a  look  of  pity  ; 
''then  I  hope  you'll  both  forget  the  fact.  We've  got 
on  all  right  without  you,  hitherto.  So  if  you'll  stick  to 
marking  out  the  Viceroy's  camp,  and  generally  prepar- 
ing the  way  of  the  Lord-sahib,  I'll  be  obliged  to  you. 
By  the  way,  is  he  coming  to  open  the  canal  on  the  loth, 
really  t  " 

"  So  they  say.  That  is,  if  you  are  ready  for  the  show 
by  then.  I  believe  he  could  put  it  off  till  the  nth  or 
1 2th.     Dashwood  said  something  to  that  effect." 

"  Then  Dashwood' s  an  ass.  The  loth  is  bad  enough. 
The  place  will  be  filling  up  even  then." 

"Filling  up!     How.?" 

"  Pilgrims.  But  on  the  i  ith  and  I2th  !  By  George  ! 
you  should  see  them  !  The  'Assyrians  came  down  like 
a  wolf  on  the  fold,'  is  nothing  to  it ;  only  these  are  the 
Hosts  of  the  Lord,  I  suppose.  And  so  Dashwood  sug- 
gested the  nth  or  I2th  —  the  Vaisakh  festival,  did  he  .-^ 
Well,  he  is  an  ass  !  But  that's  always  the  way.  We  try 
to  understand  feelings,  instead  of  trying  to  know  facts. 
However,  we  shall  be  ready  for  the  opening,  never  fear. 
Smith  expects  his  C.  S.  I.  over  it,  he  says,  and  that's 
enough  guarantee.  You  know  Smith,  don't  you, 
Dering  ?  Walsall  Smith  —  I  think  his  wife  said  she 
knew  you." 

"Yes,"  he  interrupted,  with  rather  unnecessary  de- 


4  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

cision,  "  Mrs.  Walsall  Smith  is  a  great  friend  of  mine,  a 
very  great  friend." 

"Jolly  for  you,  having  friends  in  Eshwara,"  assented 
Lance,  in  uneasy  haste.  *'  I  suppose  they  are  about  the 
only  people  here,  eh,  doctor } "  he  went  on,  changing 
the  subject  ;  but  the  latter's  clear  eyes  and  brain  were 
occupied  for  a  moment  in  taking  stock  of  Captain  Ber- 
ing's singular,  if  a  trifle  z/<?j/^«/ personal  attractions  ;  one 
of  the  most  noticeable  of  which  was  the  perfect  curve  of 
his  throat  and  cheek. 

"I  beg  your  pardon — people,  did  you  say.?"  asked 
Dr.  Dillon,  after  the  pause.  "  Plenty  of  people,  if  you 
count  padres  —  the  place  swarms  with  missions,  you 
know.  But  if  you  mean  polo  — "  He  shook  his 
head. 

Lance  Carlyon's  honest  young  face  clouded,  then  grew 
cheerful  again.  *'  Well !  there  must  be  a  lot  of  black 
partridge,  and  I  expect  there's  fish  in  the  river.  Besides, 
it's  an  awfully  picturesque  place  —  By  Jove !  it  is, 
Dering,  isn't  it.?" 

They  had  reached  the  tuft  of  spear-points  and  horses, 
men  and  bayonets,  and  before  them  lay  Eshwara,  sun- 
saturate,  shadowless,  in  the  April  noon. 

So  seen,  across  the  still  lagoon  of  water  formed  by 
the  junction  of  the  two  streams,  the  Hara  and  the  Hari, 
which  edged  the  low-lying  triangular  spit  from  which  its 
fortified,  temple-set  walls  rose,  Eshwara  seemed  at  the 
very  foot  of  the  blue  barrier  of  hill  behind  it,  whose 
serrated  edge,  paler  than  the  blue  sky  above  it,  claimed 
three-quarters  of  all  things  visible  for  this  world. 

That,  indeed,  was  the  noticeable  point  in  the  picture 
presented  to  the  eye.  As  a  rule  Heaven  claims  the 
larger  half  of  all  perspectives.  Here,  the  three  ele- 
ments, earth,  air,  water,  lay  across  the  view  in  three 
broad  bands  of  blue,  curiously  similar  in  tint ;  for  the 
sky  was  pale  with  excess  of  light,  th^  hills  with  excess 
of  heat,  and  the  water  paler  than  either  by  reason  of  a 
white  silt  which  it  brought  with  it  from  the  snows  ;  a 
white  silt  which  a  recent  flood  had  left  in  a  fine  film 


A  SHADOW  5 

upon  the  sand  stretches  that  showed  here  and  there  in 
the  broad  basin. 

"  It  is  a  gypsum  detritus^''  explained  the  doctor  — 
**  from  the  '  Cradle  of  the  Gods  '  —  the  cave,  you  know, 
where  the  rivers  rise.  The  pilgrims  go,  in  fact,  for  this 
very  stuff.  Find  it  in  the  ice  crannies,  call  it  '  the  clay 
of  immortality,'  smear  themselves  with  it,  and  then  die 
happy,  in  hundreds,  of  pneumonia  !  Those  are  the  facts. 
I  don't  profess  to  understand  them ;  and  as  I  told  you  I 
don't  want  to.  It's  dangerous.  As  that  cracked  old 
Jesuit,  Father  Narayan,  admitted,  with  that  unfathom- 
able smile  of  his,  when  all  the  other  parsons  were  at  me 
for  refusing  to  allow  them  access  to  a  postulate  or  a 
catechumen,  or  someone  of  that  sort,  who  was  sent  to 
my  jail  ^  the  Church  has  always  admitted  the  value  of 
invincible  ignorance!  " 

"  Father  Narayan  !  '*  interrupted  Lance  Carlyon  ea- 
gerly, "  I  suppose  that's  the  Father  Ninian  Bruce  who 
has  lived  here  fifty  years,  and  has  a  sort  of  Begum  in 
tow,  a  descendant  of  General  Bonaventura's,  who  was 
the  Nawabs'  favourite.  I  want  to  see  that  old  chap  ;  he 
must  be  a  character.  My  grandmother,  old  Lady  Ca- 
rewe,  used  to  tell  me  about  him  ;  long  yarns,  though  she 
hadn't  met  him  since  she  was  in  her  teens  in  a  convent 
at  Rome,  and  he  was  father  confessor,  I  suppose — she's 
a  Holy  Roman,  you  know,  and  was  a  desperate  flirt 
too." 

"  So  am  I,"  said  Vincent  Bering  quickly.  "  I  mean  a 
Catholic  —  at  least  my  people  are.  So  I  can  tell  you  one 
thing,  Dillon  ;  Father  Ninian  isn't  a  Jesuit.  I  was  talk- 
ing about  him  at  the  Club,  when  I  knew  I  was  coming 
here,  and  Father  Delamere  was  indignant  at  the  idea  — 
said  he  was  a  disgrace  to  his  cloth." 

George  Dillon's  dry  face  grew  dryer.  "  Did  he,  indeed  ! 
I  quite  agree  that  he  is,  but  I  didn't  think  Delamere 
would  have  admitted  the  fact  himself!  As  for  Pidar 
Nardyan,  as  the  natives  call  him,  he  —  he  —  "  here  the 
dry  face  melted.  "  Bless  the  man,"  he  continued,  and 
the  dry  voice  grew  soft,   "he  thinks  he  knows  more 


6  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

about  doctoring  than  I  do,  and  the  worst  of  it  is  —  '* 
here  a  perfectly  charming  smile  took  possession  of  every 
wrinkle  —  "  he  does,  in  a  way ;  for  the  natives  believe 
in  him,  and  the  '  saffron  bag '  is  the  best  of  all  remedies. 
You  see,  when  he  was  younger,  he  used  often  to  go  with 
the  pilgrims  and  try  to  pull  some  of  the  poor  devils  out 
of  the  fire  —  or  rather  out  of  the  snow  —  for  the  '  Cradle 
of  the  Gods '  lies  yonder." 

He  pointed  to  where,  faint  and  far,  a  peak  showed 
paler  than  the  rest. 

"  Why  don't  they  smear  themselves  here  ? "  asked 
Lance  stolidly. 

"Why?  Because  they  don't.  Besides,  there  isn't 
much  to  come  and  go  upon  for  a  robe  of  righteousness 
here.     Look  !  the  breeze  is  blowing  it  away  already !  " 

In  truth  the  sun,  which  with  the  other  three  elements 
of  earth,  and  air,  and  water,  give  us,  in  all  religions,  the 
whole  spiritual  life  of  man,  —  the  world  of  his  probation, 
the  heaven  of  his  hopes,  the  means  of  his  purification, 
and  the  fire  of  his  retribution  —  had  scorched  the  fine 
film  to  dust,  and  the  wind,  blowing  where  it  listed,  was 
sweeping  it  away,  leaving  the  sand  stretches  unregener- 
ate  as  ever. 

"  An  extra  touch  of  pipe-clay ! "  laughed  Vincent 
Bering,  dusting  his  knee  as  he  settled  himself  in  his  sad- 
dle. "  Well !  good-by,  old  chap.  I  shall  see  you  again 
soon,  for  I  shall  be  coming  over  to  the  Smiths*  pretty 
often,  and  I  suppose  your  regiment  of  ruffians  leaves  you 
off  duty  sometimes.  Carlyon,  make  Dillon  an  honour- 
ary  member  of  the  headquarters  mess  ! " 

George  Dillon,  leaning  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets 
against  the  rail  of  the  first  pontoon,  watching  the  little 
cavalcade  start,  nodded.  "Thanks.  I'm  over  pretty 
often  at  the  Palace.  Pidar  Nariyan  plays  the  fiddle, 
and  the  Begum,  —  as  you  call  her,  —  Miss  Laila  Bona- 
ventura,  has  a  voice.  Besides,  Babylon  —  I  mean  Esh- 
wara  —  amuses  me." 

"  Why  Babylon .? "  asked  Captain  Bering,  stooping  to 
straighten  his  stirrup. 


A   SHADOW  Y 

The  doctor  laughed,  as  his  lounge  changed  to  a  start 
homeward.  **  Means  the  same  thing.  Esh-dwarra  —  or 
in  another  tongue,  Bab-y-lon,  —  is  'the  Gate  of  God,' 
though  Babylon  stands  for  something  else  nowadays, 
doesn't  it  .-*  That's  why  I  say  it's  never  any  use  to  find 
out  the  meanings  of  things.  They  change  so.  Stick  to 
facts  ;  they  don't.  Well,  ta-ta.  I'll  see  you  to-morrow, 
most  likely,  at  the  Palace.  They  have  a  sort  of  concert- 
practice-afternoon  on  Wednesdays  —  some  of  the  Mis- 
sion ladies  sing  jollily  in  parts  —  and  the  old  man  is  sure 
to  ask  you.  He  sets  great  store  on  his  ward's  position ; 
besides,  I  told  him  you  were  a  nailer  at  the  piano." 

Vincent  Bering  made  a  wry  face.  "  The  deuce  you 
did!  My  dear  fellow,  I  couldn't  play  hymn  tunes  to 
save  my  life.     I  shall  refuse," 

''Pity,"  replied  Dr.  Dillon  over  his  shoulder,  as  he 
swung  off  in  strides  which  emphasized  the  undue  short- 
ness of  his  trousers,  "  for  I  heard  Mrs.  Smith  say  they 
wanted  a  good  accompanist.  She  sings  alto  —  rather 
well." 

"  Oh,  does  she } "  said  Captain  Dering,  in  a  different 
tone. 

As  they  set  their  faces  different  ways,  there  was  a 
smile  on  both,  but  the  doctor's  was  scarcely  a  pleasant 
one ;  it  would,  in  fact,  have  been  wholly  sardonic  but 
for  the  touch  of  impatient  weariness  it  brought  with 
it. 

So,  through  the  sun-bright,  sun-dried  air,  while  George 
Dillon  walked  back  to  his  fifteen  hundred  malefactors, 
the  little  trail  of  spear-points  and  bayonets,  men  and 
horses,  drifted  at  a  foot-pace  across  the  frail  bridge 
towards  the  town  ;  drifted  unsteadily,  the  yielding  boats 
swaying,  the  wooden  girders  giving  and  groaning  over 
their  burden.  Seen  so,  with  but  a  plank  between  it 
and  the  milky  water  creased  by  the  faint  current,  there 
was  something  unreal  in  the  gay  troop  of  colour  and 
glitter  making  its  way  to  the  quaint,  storeyed  town, 
ablaze  in  the  sunlight,  which  turned  each  golden  temple- 
spike  to  a  star.     A  cool  breeze  fluttered  the  lance-pen- 


8  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

nants,  and  brought  that  faint  film  of  white  to  horse  and 
man,  warm  flesh,  and  cold  steel. 

And  far  away  on  that  pale  peak,  a  little  white  cloud 
had  rested,  hiding  the  "  Cradle  of  the  Gods." 

"There  must  be  fish  here,"  remarked  Lance  dog- 
matically. "I'll  get  out  my  rods  to-morrow  and  try  for 
a  *  mahseer.^  "  And  the  earnestness  of  his  face,  as  he 
lifted  his  eyes  skyward  to  watch  a  couple  of  cormorants, 
would  have  suited  a  knight-errant  of  old  on  the  quest  of 
the  Holy  Grail. 

"It  won't  be  half  bad,  I  expect  —  for  a  time,  at  any- 
rate,"  assented  Vincent  Bering,  still  with  that  content 
upon  his  face.  "  We  will  get  up  some  fun  while  the 
camp  is  here,  of  course ;  and  after  that  — "  he  paused, 
and  the  content  became  greater — "we'll  manage  foi 
the  month  or  so  we  have  to  stop.     At  least  I  shall." 

His  voice  was  soft.  He  might  have  been  another 
knight-errant  of  old,  riding  across  to  the  enchanted 
castle  of  his  beloved. 

"  I  beg  pardon,  sir,"  said  a  voice  behind  him  ;  a  voice 
with  a  strong  native  accent,  yet  with  a  curiously  Eng- 
lish phrasing  in  it,  "but  by  dismounting  here  you  will 
reach  the  Fort  in  a  few  minutes  on  foot.  The  road  is 
longer." 

Captain  Bering  turned,  as  if  surprised,  to  the  speaker, 
a  native  officer  who  sat  his  horse  at  the  salute ;  then 
smiled,  and  with  a  clatter  of  accoutrements  slipped  to 
the  ground. 

"  Come  along,  Carlyon.  I  was  forgetting  that  Roshan 
Khan  is  up  to  the  ropes  here.  You  belong  to  Eshwara, 
don't  you,  risaldaf  sahib  ? '' 

The  man  to  whom  he  spoke  had  slipped  from  his 
saddle  also,  and  stood,  smart  as  uniform  could  make 
him,  still  as  discipline  could  hold  him.  He  was  a  good- 
looking  young  Mahomedan  of  about  thirty,  curiously 
English  in  his  movements,  curiously  native  in  his  exag- 
geration of  martial  airs. 

^^Huzoorf'  he  assented.  "We  are  connected  with 
the  late  Nawab's  house." 


A  SHADOW  9 

He  spoke  with  absolute  indifference,  but  Captain 
Bering,  as  they  left  the  bazaar,  which  led  from  the 
bridge,  for  a  short  flight  of  steps  and  a  narrow  alley 
cleaving  it's  way  through  crowded,  shouldering  houses, 
remarked  aside :  — 

"  I  believe  that  means  he  is  about  the  nearest  relation 
left.  The  Colonel,  I  know,  wasn't  sure  about  the  wis- 
dom of  his  coming  here ;  but  then  the  Colonel  is  that 
sort.  So  I  insisted.  One  wants  somebody  who  can 
tell  you  things  in  a  new  place.  What's  that,  in  there, 
Roshan  }  " 

They  had  come  to  a  long,  high  wall,  with  trees  show- 
ing above  it,  which  stretched  away  on  their  right  hand 
for  two  or  three  hundred  yards,  until  it  ended  in  an 
arched  tunnel  through  a  massive  block  of  buildings  at 
right  angles  to  it. 

"The  palace  garden,  sir;  and  that  is  the  palace. 
There  is  no  entrance  this  side." 

"  The  women's  apartments,  I  suppose  "^  " 

^^  HnzooVy'  assented  Roshan  Khan  once  more.  **  The 
Miss  Sahib  lives  there  now,  and  the  Padr^  has  his 
chapel  there  too.  The  river  runs  along  the  side,  and  it 
is  pleasant." 

**  Pleasant  and  cool,"  echoed  Lance,  as  the  shadow  of 
the  tunnel  closed  in  on  them.  "  I'd  no  idea  it  was  so 
hot  outside.     By  Jove  !  what  a  quaint  place." 

They  were  emerging  on  a  wide,  square  courtyard  of 
which  the  palace  formed  one  side,  the  fort  another,  a 
flight  of  steps  leading  down  to  the  river  a  third,  while  the 
fourth  was  apparently,  a  wing  of  the  palace.  All  three 
walls  were  absolutely  blank  save  for  a  low  door  at  each 
of  the  four  corners  ;  and  these  were,  so  to  speak,  con- 
nected with  each  other  by  pathways  raised  two  steps 
above  the  rest  of  the  courtyard.  A  similar  footpath 
crossed  it  in  the  middle  and  so  completed  the  resem- 
blance to  a  union-jack  ;  for  the  pathways  were  of  white 
marble  and  red  Agra  stone,  the  courtyard  of  purple-blue 
brick.  These  paths  met  in  a  round  platform  in  the 
centre,  where,  on  a  stone  carriage,  stood  an  old  cannon. 


10  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

"  That's  a  big  gun,"  said  Vincent  Bering,  when,  with 
a  quickened  clink  of  his  spurred  steps  he  had  reached  it ; 
so,  laying  his  hand  lightly  on  the  cylinder,  he  vaulted  to 
it,  as  on  to  a  horse,  and  stooped  to  read  an  inscription 
on  the  riveted  band  about  the  breech. 

** Sanskrit,"  he  said  —  "that  stumps  me!  it's  so  con- 
founded straight.  Ah  !  here  it  is  in  Persian  too  —  that's 
better." 

There  was  a  faint  clash  of  steel  on  stone,  for,  as  he 
read  the  motto  aloud,  Roshan's  hand,  stiffening  on  his 
sword-hilt,  made  ground  and  scabbard  meet. 

Captain  Bering  slipped  to  his  feet  again  with  a  laugh. 

*'  'Teacher  of  religion,  and  instructor  of  souls;'  that's 
about  a  correct  translation,  isn't  it,  risaldar  sahib  ? 
Well !  I'd  back  a  Maxim  against  old  Blunderbore  as  a 
missionary  agent  nowadays.  Hullo !  they  worship  it 
still,  do  they  .? "  He  pointed  to  a  faded  chaplet  of  mari- 
golds around  the  muzzle,  and  a  red  hand  printed  on  the 
marble  below. 

The  Mahomedan's  face  took  on  the  expression  of  his 
race  and  creed  ;  all  unconsciously,  too,  he  reverted  to  his 
own  language. 

"The  idolators  do  that  when  they  come  to  bathe; 
and  they  give  alms  to  the  saint,  when  he  is  inside." 

"  Inside  !  "  echoed  Captain  Bering.  "What !  Inside 
the  gun } " 

Here  Lance,  who  had  promptly  peered  down  the 
muzzle,  came  up  from  it  excitedly,  asserting  that  the 
saint  was  there  now ;  he  could  see  the  brute's  fuzzy 
head  half  way  down,  so  he  must  have  crawled  in  feet 
foremost  —  one  of  those  naked  brutes  who  smeared 
themselves  with  ashes,  to  judge  by  his  chignon. 

"Make  a  ripping  mop,"  laughed  Vincent  Bering, 
after  glancing  down  in  his  turn ;  "  clean  the  gun 
nicely,"  —  then  the  insouciance  of  his  face  disappeared, 
its  curves  hardened  — "  and  by  God !  I'll  make  him. 
I'm  not  going  to  have  my  guns  worshipped!  eh, 
Roshan } " 

*'  Huzoor"  assented  the  Mahomedan  once  more,  this 


A  SHADOW  II 

time  joyfully,  as  —  a  decorous  two  paces  behind  —  his 
spurs  jingled  in  harmony  with  his  captain's  across  the 
raised  union-jack  towards  the  river-end  of  the  court- 
yard where,  in  a  projecting  bastion  right  upon  the  bath- 
ing steps,  the  low  arched  door  stood  which  gave  access 
to  the  Fort. 

In  order  to  reach  it  they  had  to  pass  the  solitary  visi- 
ble occupant  of  the  wide,  sunlit  courtyard.  This  was  a 
man  —  of  what  rank,  education,  occupation,  none  could 
tell  —  who  having  raised  a  square  of  two-inch-high  mud 
wall  between  his  twice-born  purity  and  the  world,  was 
preparing  his  daily  food.  Naked,  save  for  his  waist- 
cloth,  and  the  thread  of  the  twice-born  over  his  left 
shoulder,  he  was  isolated  even  from  his  kindred.  Alone 
with  himself  and  his  God. 

Before  him  in  the  mud-plastered  square,  as  he  sat 
immovable,  was  the  mud  fireplace  on  which  his  wheaten 
dough-cake  was  cooking ;  beside  him  was  a  leaf-platter 
of  curds,  a  brass  vessel  of  milk ;  a  sight  to  be  seen  a 
hundred  times  a  day  in  India ;  one  which  should  never 
be  forgotten. 

The  noon  was  almost  shadowless ;  yet,  even  so,  as 
he  led  the  way,  Captain  Bering,  from  sheer  habit, 
swerved  to  step  further  from  the  sacred  square.  Doing 
so  his  foot  slipped  an  instant  on  the  lower  step.  He 
gave  an  impatient  exclamation  and  passed  on.  A  minute 
later  the  door  of  the  fort  clanged  behind  the  little  party, 
cutting  short  an  English  laugh. 

Then,  not  till  then,  the  man  in  that  square  of  purity 
showed  signs  of  life.  He  rose  quietly,  almost  uncon- 
cernedly, took  the  half-baked  cake  from  the  embers, 
the  leaf-platter  of  curds,  the  vessel  of  milk,  and  going 
down  to  the  river's  edge,  flung  his  dinner  into  it,  to 
feed  the  fishes. 

In  that  stumble,  the  plume-like  fringe  of  Vincent 
Bering's  high  peaked  turban  had  sent  a  shadow  to 
overtop  the  two-inch  barrier  between  one  man  and  his 
fellows. 


12  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

CHAPTER  II 

"  HE  SHALL  FEED  HIS  FLOCK  LIKE  A  SHEPHERD  " 

The  garden  of  the  old  palace  at  Eshwara  had  been 
rightly  described  by  Roshan  Khan  as  a  pleasant  place. 
Longer  than  it  was  broad,  its  shady  walks  and  orange 
groves  clung  to  the  river,  raised  above  it  by  a  balconied 
wall  against  which  the  current  ran  dimpling.  On  two 
of  the  remaining  sides,  a  twenty-feet  high  barrier  of 
sheer  masonry,  buttressed  and  bastioned,  blocked  out  all 
curious  eyes.  On  the  third,  separating  it  from  the 
courtyard  where  the  big  gun  stood,  rose  the  palace. 
Seen  thus  intimately  from  within,  the  latter  had 
changed  its  character.  No  longer  severe,  stern,  giving 
a  blank  stare  at  the  world  from  the  narrow  slits  of  infre- 
quent windows,  it  had  grown  fanciful,  almost  fantastic, 
full  of  canopied  turrets  and  inconsequent  little  latticed 
retreats. 

At  least  in  the  two  upper  storeys ;  for  the  lower  one 
was  more  solid,  its  chief  feature  being  a  wide,  aisled 
passage  leading  right  through  it  to  a  door  which  gave  on 
the  courtyard.  Being  exactly  opposite  the  one  in  the 
corner  of  the  Fort  bastion  on  the  other  side,  this  door 
opened,  as  the  latter  did,  on  one  of  the  slantwise  limbs 
of  the  quaint  union-jack  of  raised  paths  which  centred 
in  the  cannon. 

It  was  not  necessary,  however,  to  go  round  by  this  in 
crossing  from  one  door  to  the  other,  as  by  keeping  to 
the  river  steps,  you  could  do  so  on  the  same  level. 

In  old  times  the  guardians  of  the  frail  beauties  for 
whose  delectation  the  garden  had  been  made,  had  lived 
in  the  crypt-like  vaulted  rooms  which  opened  out  from 
this  aisled  passage ;  so  keeping  the  gate  against  illegal 
wanderings.  Since  the  only  other  exit  from  the  gaiden, 
save  by  boat,  was  through  the  second  storey  of  the 
women's  apartments,  and  as  this  was  by  a  door  leading 
directly  into  the  royal  rooms  (which  were  on  the  other 


''HE  SHALL  FEED  HIS  FLOCK  LIKE  A  SHEPHERD''       1 3 

side  of  the  tunnel  that  gave  access  to  the  courtyard, 
and  also  divided  the  palace  into  two  portions  —  male, 
and  female),  the  butterfly  prisoners  had  had  no  chance 
of  fluttering  to  strange  honey.  In  those  days,  therefore, 
the  door  had  always  been  bolted  and  barred. 

It  stood  wide  open,  however,  showing  a  vista  of  green 
at  the  farther  end  of  the  passage,  when  Captain  Bering 
and  Lance  Carlyon  came  over  to  it  in  reply  to  the  in- 
timation that  Miss  Laila  Bonaventura  was  ^^  At  Home 
for  music  on  Wednesday  afternoons y'  which  had  been 
brought  to  the  Fort  overnight  by  an  old  pantaloon,  A 
very  old  pantaloon  with  a  wizened  face,  a  few  sparse 
hairs  —  dyed  flaming  red  —  standing  at  right  angles 
to  his  cheeks,  and  a  marvellous  livery,  consisting  for 
the  most  part  of  yards  upon  yards  of  tarnished  tinsel 
cloth,  twisted  and  twined  about  head  and  waist  like 
Saturn's  rings.  The  oldest  of  old  pantaloons,  with 
a  back  curved  by  a  life-time  of  obeisances,  a  toothless 
mouth,  still  full  of  sonorous  titles,  and  a  wicked  old  eye, 
watchful  for  the  least  want  of  the  master,  be  it  good  or 
evil.  A  pantaloon,  with  Heaven  knows  what  history  of 
unutterable  things  hidden  in  his  old  brain,  such  as  is  to 
J)e  seen,  even  in  these  days,  lingering  round  the  ruins 
of  a  native  court  ;  a  figure  despicable  enough,  yet  real ; 
so  in  a  way  pathetic,  by  reason  of  its  absolute  lack 
of  real  interest  in  things  as  they  are. 

And  now  as  the  two  Englishmen  paused, — partly 
because  the  swift  change  from  the  glare  without  to  the 
gloom  within  was  startling,  — this  same  pantaloon,  with 
a  white  muslin  robe  superadded  to  the  livery  as  a  badge 
of  his  dignity  as  door-keeper,  precipitated  himself  upon 
them  from  the  shadows,  with  ancient  skips  of  alacrity 
and  loop-like  salaams ;  then  with  crab-like  sidlings  led 
the  way,  the  young  men  following. 

"  I  must  have  that  old  chap  on  paper  before  I  leave,'* 
said  Vincent  Bering  ;  "  he's  too  good  to  be  lost." 

So,  their  steps  echoing  cheerfully  with  their  laughter, 
they  went  on  until,  towards  the  middle  of  the  passage, 
the  aisle  to  their  left  widened,  and  through  a  maze  of 


14  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

pillars  and  arches,  a  glimpse  or  two  of  air  and  sunlight 
showed  sharply. 

Lance  took  a  curious  step  towards  them.  "  Opens  on 
to  the  river,  I  expect ;  jolly  cool  it  must  be  in  the  hot 
weather !  By  Jove  !  those  old  sinners  knew  how  to  be 
comfortable.  Hullo!"  —  he  paused  in  a  sort  of  horror 
—  "I  say,  Bering !  I  believe  it's  a  chapel.  Yes !  it 
is ! "  He  took  off  his  cap  instinctively,  and  moved 
another  step  forward  to  see  better. 

But  Captain  Bering  called  impatiently,  "Oh,  come 
along,  do,  Carlyon !  I  didn't  promise  to  go  to  church ! 
Hymns  are  bad  enough  in  all  conscience." 

Lance,  however,  stood  rooted  to  the  spot,  cap  in  hand. 
*'  Hush ! "  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  I  believe  they  are 
having  service."  As  he  spoke  a  robed  figure  showed 
between  the  arches  against  the  sunlight  beyond  them ; 
showed  with  something  in  its  lifted  hands,  then  passed 
to  some  unseen  altar. 

"  Oh,  come  along,  do !  there's  a  good  chap,  and  let's 
get  out  of  the  way,"  repeated  Captain  Bering,  sharply. 
*'  It's  Father  Narayan,  I  suppose,  —  he's  as  mad  as  a 
hatter,  and  boshes  the  whole  business  —  at  least,  so 
Belamere  said.  I  told  you  we  were  a  bit  early,  but  you 
would  start ;  still  it's  too  bad  of  the  old  man  to  have 
his  chapel  in  the  front  hall !  Come  along !  and  let  us 
wait  in  the  garden  —  it  looks  an  awfully  jolly  one  — 
awfully  —  " 

He  paused,  perhaps  at  the  change,  this  time,  from 
gloom  to  glare,  perhaps  at  the  sudden  sense  of  antici- 
pation, the  sudden  quickening  of  the  pulse  of  life,  which 
made  him  draw  a  long  breath  involuntarily. 

It  was  not  unfamiliar  to  him,  that  sudden  stir  of  vi- 
tality, of  expectation ;  and  with  a  curious  smile  on  his 
face  he  crossed  to  the  edge  of  the  marble  plinth  on 
which  the  passage  opened,  and  leaning  over  the  balus- 
trade, looked  down  to  a  terrace  below,  and  so  on  to 
the  garden  itself. 

A  perfect  wilderness  of  common  flowers,  sown  broad- 
cast, lay  at  his  feet,  hemming  in  a  shallow  marble  tank, 


''HE  SHALL  FEED  HIS  FLOCK  LIKE  A  SHEPHERD''       15 

which  was  nearly  covered  with  the  dewy  leaf-cups  of 
the  lotus,  and  set  round  with  mosaic  arabesques.  From 
this  tank  two  aqueducts  led  to  the  edge  of  the  terrace, 
and  ended  in  steep  slopes  of  fretted  marble,  where  cas- 
cades had  once  wimpled  and  dimpled  down  to  the  water- 
maze  which  lay  below  —  a  shiny  lake,  cobwebbed  over 
by  narrow  marble  paths  just  wide  enough  for  the  bare, 
flying  feet  of  a  laughing  girl.  Beyond  was  scented 
shade,  with  glints  of  water-courses  gleaming  here  and 
there;  while  here  and  there  came  a  peep  of  a  latticed 
balcony  overhanging  the  river ;  a  balcony  just  large 
enough  for  a  laughing  girl  and  her  lover. 

Yet  there  was  not  even  a  butterfly  to  be  seen  hover- 
ing over  the  flowers.  All  was  still,  all  was  silent,  until 
Vincent  Bering's  careless  laugh  echoed  through  the 
stillness,  the  silence. 

"Can't  you  imagine  it  —  all  lit  up  —  they  used  to  put 
coloured  lamps  behind  the  cascades,  I'm  told,  and  play 
*  Catch  who  can  '  up  and  down  and  all  around  the  place! 
On  the  whole  I  expect  they  enjoyed  themselves  —  better 
than  the  type-writing  girls  of  to-day  do,  for  instance." 

"Got  beastly  sick  of  enjoying  themselves  before  they 
had  done  with  it,  I  expect,"  replied  Lance,  succinctly, 
"especially  if  there  was  always  such  a  confounded 
strong  smell  of  orange  blossoms.  Bah  !  I'd  prefer  a 
polecat ;  but,"  he  gave  a  distasteful  glance  at  his  com- 
panion, "  I  believe  you  like  strong  scents." 

"  Why  not }  "  laughed  Vincent  Bering,  drawing  out  a 
handkerchief  deluged  with  white-rose,  and  sniffing  at  it, 
"it's  a  harmless  taste,"  here  his  jest  passed  to  earnest, 
and  his  eyes  took  a  half  soft,  half  cynical  expression,  — 
"  so's  the  other,  in  a  way.  It  isn't  altogether  despicable 
to  let  yourself  loose  in  Paradise  without  an  arrUre pens^e 
of  flaming  swords.  Especially  if  you  can  give  pleasure 
to  someone  else  thereby.  One  could  act  Romeo  and 
Juliet  nicely  in  this  garden.  And  have  your  choice  of 
balconies,  too,"  he  continued,  returning  to  jest,  "even  if 
the  young  woman  —  " 

He  glanced  back  as  if  to  verify  his  remark  from  the 


1 6  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

faqade  of  the  palace,  but  what  he  saw  behind  him 
brought  a  sudden  straightening  of  his  lounge,  and  rather 
an  elaborate  doffing  of  his  sailor  hat ;  for  he  was  always 
a  trifle  ornate  in  his  courtesy  towards  women,  and  the 
girl  who  stood  within  a  pace  or  two  of  him  was  distinctly 
attractive,  if  —  even  at  the  first  glance — a  little  too 
bread-and-buttery  for  his  taste  ;  too  young,  too  clumsy  as 
to  waist,  too  massive  in  the  contours  of  face  and  figure. 
For  Captain  Vincent  Bering's  taste  had  remained  con- 
stant for  the  last  three  years  to  a  different  type  of 
beauty ;  a  type  which,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  had 
made  him  sentimental,  romantic,  more  or  less  unselfish. 
Still  the  girl  was  handsome,  even  in  that  babyish  frock 
of  starched  white  muslin,  girt  about  with  a  yellow  silk 
sash.  The  dress,  he  told  himself, — for  he  was  a  con- 
noisseur in  chiffons^  and  had  a  pretty  turn  for  painting 
in  addition  —  would  have  been  better  soft,  and  creamy  ; 
but  thank  heaven !  the  sash  was  not  blue,  like  the 
marker  of  the  missal  she  carried  in  her  hand.  It  might 
have  been  ;  for  it  was  impossible  to  fathom  the  lack  of 
all  sense  of  fitness  in  some  women.  Yet  the  result 
would  have  been  to  take  all  the  ivory  tints  from  this 
girl's  complexion,  and  leave  it  jaundiced.  And  the  ivory 
was  charming. 

**  I  am  Miss  Bonaventura,"  she  began  in  a  set  way, 
which  convinced  Captain  Bering  that  she  had  been  sent 
to  say  those  very  words,  and  none  other  ;  "my  guardian, 
Father  Ninian  Bruce,  will  be  here  directly.  Won't  you 
come  upstairs  to  the  drawing-room }  I  am  sorry  we  did 
not  know  it  was  so  late." 

"  It  is  our  fault ;  we  are  disgracefully  early,"  put  in 
Captain  Bering.  "I  told  Carlyon  —  "  then  he  paused, 
feeling  curiously  at  a  loss  before  the  girl's  look  of  stolid 
gravity. 

"Perhaps  your  watch  is  too  fast,"  she  suggested, 
**and  then  my  guardian  likes  to  go  by  the  sun.  He 
says  it  never  needs  winding  up.  But  I  think  it  is  in- 
convenient, when  everybody  else  has  a  watch.  It  is 
always  better  to  do  as  other  people  do." 


'*HE  SHALL  FEED  HIS  FLOCK  LIKE  A  SHEPHERD''       1 7 

Her  voice  was  very  sweet  and  full ;  but  a  country- 
bred  accent  spoilt  its  beauty,  and  brought  a  grimace  to 
Captain  Bering's  face,  as  he  and  his  companion  dutifully 
followed  the  speaker  up  one  of  the  curved  flights  of 
steps,  which  led  from  the  plinth  to  a  wide  loggia  on  the 
second  storey.  Like  the  room  seen  through  its  arches, 
this  was  lavishly  decorated  with  fragments  of  looking- 
glass  fashioned  into  flowing  designs  with  gilt  stucco. 
The  afternoon  sun,  at  this  height  shining  full  into  the 
loggia,  made  it  a  veritable  star  chamber. 

"  What  a  charming  place,"  went  on  Captain  Bering  in 
his  best  manner.  "  Boesn't  it  remind  you  of  the 
Arabian  Nights,  Carlyon  t  " 

A  sudden  vague  surprise  and  interest  came  to  the 
girl's  face,  lightening  it  infinitely. 

**  Have  you  read  the  Alif  Laila  f  "  she  asked.  "  My 
moonshi  brought  it  —  I  have  to  learn  Urdu,  you  know, 
because  my  guardian  thinks  I  ought  to  be  able  to  speak 
to  the  people,  as  he  does  —  and  I  wanted  to  read  it, 
because  it  is  my  name,  you  see  —  Laila  —  it  means 
*  night,'  I  believe  —  but  my  guardian  did  not  wish  it. 
He  gave  me  the  *  Mirror  of  Virtue '  instead.  It  is  a 
very,  very  long  —  " 

Her  almost  childish  garrulity  ceased  in  a  faint  flush 
over  the  ivory  of  her  face,  and  she  reverted  to  her  lesson, 
and  her  indifference — "The  other  people  will  be  here 
directly ;  but  they  will  come  from  the  city,  across  the 
tunnel,  and  go  straight  into  the  drawing-room.  Would 
you  Uke  to  come  in  there,  or  stay  here } " 

"  Oh  !  stay  here,  please  !  "  said  Vincent,  desperately. 
The  young  woman  was  getting  on  his  nerves. 

"  Then  perhaps  you  would  like  to  try  the  piano } " 
persisted  Miss  Bonaventura.  "  My  guardian  has  it 
brought  out  here  on  Wednesday  afternoons,  because  it 
sounds  well  among  the  arches.     Will  you  try  it } " 

Her  hand  —  it  was  ivory  also,  Vincent  observed,  and 
had  long  filbert-shaped  nails  —  held  the  cover  of  the 
keyboard  open  stolidly ;  and  Lance  Carlyon,  feeling  a 
bit  desperate  also,  said  appealingly  :  — 


1 8  THE  HOSTS   OF   THE  LORD 

"  Do,  Bering.  He  is  a  nailer  at  the  piano,  I  assure 
you,  Miss  Bonaventura,  and  he  sings  too." 

"So  my  guardian  —  "  she  began,  when  Vincent's  pa- 
tience gave  way  and,  with  a  perfect  devil  of  exaspera- 
tion roused  in  him,  he  sat  down  on  the  music-stool  and 
with  a  crash  burst  into  a  naughty  little  love  song  he 
had  picked  up  at  Brindisi  on  the  way  out.  He  did  it 
simply  to  soothe  himself ;  so,  to  do  him  justice,  he 
nearly  fell  off  the  music-stool  in  horror  when,  at  the 
refrain  of  the  second  verse,  a  very  full  round  mezzo- 
soprano  joined  in  it  with  a  verve  and  abandon  far  exceed- 
ing his  own. 

He  scarcely  knew  whether  to  apologize,  or  go  on ; 
but  Miss  Bonaventura  apparently  had  no  doubts.  She 
finished  with  a  gay  little  staccato  note  which  would  have 
made  her  fortune  at  a  music  hall,  and  then  turned  to  the 
accompanist  with  a  smile  which  showed  an  absolutely 
flawless  set  of  teeth.  "What  funny  words  ;  but  I  like 
them,  and  the  tune  too.  What  is  it  called  t  I  should 
like  to  get  it  and  sing  it  to  my  guardian." 

Vincent,  who  had  begun  a  stammering  regret  that  he 
had  not  remembered  her  nationality,  altered  his  phrase, 
with  a  sense  of  relief,  to  "  You  know  Italian  very  well, 
I  suppose.  Miss  Bonaventura  t " 

She  returned  to  her  indifference  immediately.  "  My 
guardian  and  I  speak  it.  He  loves  Italy  and  the  Ital- 
ians. He  knew  my  grandmother  there.  She  was  a  prin- 
cess ;  but  he  never  speaks  of  her,  so  I  don't  know  very 
much  about  it.  Only  Mother  at  the  convent  said  that 
my  guardian  —  " 

She  was  off,  gaily,  on  the  childishly  confidential  tack 
again,  when  the  sight  of  someone  coming  up  the  stairs 
made  her  veer  towards  dignity  once  more.  "  There  is 
my  guardian,"  she  said ;  "  he  is  very  sorry  to  have  kept 
you  waiting." 

Evidently  this  was  the  last  bit  of  her  lesson,  for 
she  closed  the  piano  with  great  decision. 

The  figure  which  came  slowly  towards  them  was  that 
of  a  very  old  man,  yet  one  older,  by  many  years,  than 


''HE  SHALL  FEED  HIS  FLOCK  LIKE  A  SHEPHERD''       1 9 

his  looks.  For  he  was  still  straight,  save  for  a  slight 
stoop  in  the  neck ;  but  this,  by  the  backward  poise  of 
the  head  thus  made  necessary  to  enable  his  brown  eyes 
to  meet  all  things,  after  their  habit,  squarely,  if  softly, 
gave  him  an  air  of  alertness.  He  was  dressed  in  an  or- 
dinary black  soutane,  but  wore  a  fine  white  embroidered 
muslin  skull-cap,  such  as  natives  wear,  instead  of  a  black 
one.  His  grey  hair  showed,  still  luxuriant,  beneath  it ; 
and  the  wide  sash  of  faded  lilac  silk,  with  tasselled  ends, 
which  was  tied  in  a  bow  about  his  waist,  set  off  his  still 
slim  and  still  graceful  figure. 

"  I  hope  my  little  girl  has  been  doing  the  honours 
properly,"  he  began,  pausing  a  pace  or  two  from  the 
young  men,  and  not  offering  to  shake  hands ;  but  his 
voice  was  a  welcome  in  itself,  and  had  that  nameless 
cachet  of  absolute  good  breeding  which  makes  offence 
impossible.  There  was  a  slight  hesitancy  in  it  too,  now 
and  again,  which  was  overcome  by  a  look  that  took  the 
listener  into  its  confidence,  and  appealed  for  friendly 
forbearance  —  "  but  she  is  only  just  back  from  school  at 
Calcutta,  and  the  good  nuns  did  not  see  much  company, 
did  they,  Laila.-*"  Then  in  an  undertone  of  solicitude 
he  added,  in  Italian,  **  Didst  tell  them,  cava  mia  ?  —  didst 
remember  it  all } " 

Laila  Bonaventura  looked  at  him  with  a  faint  resent- 
ment. "  I  think  so,  guardian,"  she  replied,  in  EngUsh. 
"  Didn't  I .?  " 

The  last  came  with  such  swift,  almost  savage,  challenge 
of  voice  and  eyes,  that  Vincent  Dering,  the  recipient, 
felt  glad  of  the  diversion  caused  by  the  arrival,  through 
the  drawing-room,  of  some  more  guests  to  claim  the  at- 
tention of  the  host  and  hostess,  and  so  leave  him  in  peace. 

"  I  say,  that  girl  has  got  splendid  hair,  hasn't  she  ? " 
he  said  in  an  undertone  to  Lance,  as  they  stood  a  little 
apart,  watching  the  new  comers. 

"  That  tall  one,  you  mean  —  don't  admire  it.  Puts  me 
in  mind  of  that  devil  of  a  chestnut  who  nearly  killed  me 
at  polo  ;  a  chestnut  with  white  stockings ;  awfully  handy, 
but  —  " 


20  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

He  paused  as  Father  Ninian  came  up  to  them.  "You 
can  scarcely  know  any  of  your  neighbours  as  yet,  Cap- 
tain Bering,"  began  the  old  man  with  the  ceremony  of 
a  past  age,  "  so  perhaps  you  will  give  me  the  privilege 
of  presenting  you  to  some  of  our  good  mission  ladies." 

"Thanks,"  replied  Vincent,  hastily.  "But  I  see  my 
old  friend,  Mrs.  Walsall  Smith,  coming  in.  I  must  just 
go  and  shake  hands.     But  I'm  sure  Carlyon  — " 

Lance  shot  a  perfectly  pathetic  glance  after  his  Cap- 
tain, who  moved  off  to  meet  a  delicate-looking  fair 
woman  who  at  that  moment  came  in  with  Dr.  Dillon ; 
the  latter  taken  possession  of  and  monopolized  by  an 
exceedingly  pretty  child  of  five,  who  had  evidently  in- 
herited her  mother's  fragility. 

"Delighted,  I'm  sure,"  murmured  Lance,  following 
his  leader  dejectedly. 

"  Miss  Erda  Shepherd,  Mr.  Lancelot  —  I  am  right,  am 
I  not  —  Carlyon.^" 

It  was  the  tall  girl  with  the  red-brown  hair,  of  course. 
She  had  bronze  eyebrows,  too,  and  bronze  eyes  —  nice 
ones.  He  saw  so  much  as  he  made  his  bow,  while 
Father  Ninian  stood  looking  first  at  the  girl,  then  at 
the  young  man ;  and  as  he  looked  his  fine  old  hands 
were  clasped  as  if  they  held  something  very  precious. 
It  was  a  habit  of  his. 

"  I  hope  you  will  like  each  other,"  he  said  in  his  kind 
old  voice ;  and  then,  ere  he  moved  away,  his  hands  fell 
apart  for  an  instant  as  if  giving  something.  "  Peace  go 
with  you,  my  children,"  he  said  with  a  smile. 

Lance  felt  a  queer,  unaccustomed  thrill  travel  from  the 
nape  of  his  neck  to  his  boots,  pausing  by  the  way  at 
his  heart.  It  was  an  unusual  method  of  introduction, 
certainly ;  yet  somehow  it  relieved  the  shyness  which 
generally  beset  him  at  such  functions.  He  found  him- 
self looking  frankly  into  the  bronze  eyes,  and  something 
in  them  made  him  say,  almost  involuntarily:  — 

"That  was  rather  a  jolly  way  of  beginning  to  be 
friends.  I  mean  — "  The  shyness  came  back  with  a 
rush  ;  he  blundered  horribly. 


''HE  SHALL  FEED  HIS  FLOCK  LIKE  A  SHEPHERD''       21 

**Very,"  put  in  the  girl,  interrupting  him  quite  sim- 
ply. "  I  hope  it  will  be  peace.  I  always  hope  that. 
You  know  I  am  a  missionary." 

"Oh,"  he  replied,  blankly.  *'Yes,  there  are  a  lot 
of  you  —  I  mean  —  of  them,  in  Eshwara,  aren't 
there } " 

Her  face  set  suddenly,  her  mouth  grew  almost  stern. 
"Not  enough,  Mr.  Carlyon ;  not  half  enough,"  she  re- 
plied. And  the  militant  ring  of  her  voice,  belying  the 
peaceful  professions  of  the  previous  moment,  made  him 
look  at  her  curiously,  recognizing  that  he  had  touched 
some  quivering  nerve  of  mind.  "If  you  knew  Esh- 
wara as  I  know  it,"  she  went  on,  passionately,  "you 
would  say  so  too ;  I'm  sure  you  would." 

The  bronze  eyes,  meeting  his  blue  ones,  though  they 
gave  nothing  back  but  kindly,  almost  boyish,  surprise, 
seemed  satisfied.  She  turned  suddenly  and  stretched 
her  right  hand  over  the  river  which  slipped  oilily  past 
the  wall  below,  as  they  stood  beside  the  balustrade 
of  the  loggia.  "  Look  !  "  she  said,  impulsively.  "  Do 
you  see  that  straight  white  thing  floating  down  the 
curve  of  the  current  yonder.^  It  isn't  a  log;  those 
others  are ;  plenty  of  logs  come  down  the  rivers  from 
the  forests  in  the  hills,  for  they  don't  catch  all,  you 
know,  at  the  government  wood-station.  And  so  the 
people  here  catch  the  runaways  in  the  backwater,  and 
get  paid  for  them.  But  that  —  "  She  paused  and  her 
other  hand  gripped  the  balustrade  hard  ;  then  she  turned 
back  to  him  with  a  faint  apology.  "Why  should  I 
bother  you  .-*  Let  us  talk  of  something  else.  There  is 
no  reason  why  I  should  talk  of  these  things  to  you  so 
soon,  or,  indeed,  at  all." 

"  I'd  rather  you  did,"  he  put  in  quickly.  It  was  the 
truth.  A  sudden  curiosity  had  come  to  him,  a  sudden  de- 
sire to  know  more,  to  think  more.  He  was  less  of  a  boy 
than  he  had  been  five  minutes  before.  "I  —  I  hope  you 
will,"  he  added  ;  "really  I  do  — I  — I  —  "  He  felt  his 
manhood  as  he  had  never  felt  it  before,  and  yet,  in  a 
way,  he  was  more  forgetful  of  it.     The  girl  opposite  him 


22  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

was  womanhood  incarnate  to  him,  and  yet,  in  some 
mysterious  way,  beyond  it,  above  it. 

"  You  and  I  must  be  about  the  same  age,  I  expect,'* 
he  said,  with  a  half-perplexed  frown,  "  but  you  have  seen 
a  lot  more  than  I  have.      I  wish  you'd  tell  me,  please !  " 

The  straight  white  glint  in  the  water  was  just  disap- 
pearing behind  one  of  those  balconies  overhanging  the 
river,  where  there  was  only  room  for  a  pair  of  lovers. 

"  It  is  a  dead  girl,  Mr.  Carlyon,"  she  said  in  a  low 
voice.  "  She  was  in  my  school.  Her  people  were  very 
bigoted  —  Brahmins  in  a  temple  —  but  they  let  her  be 
taught  to  read,  because  she  was  betrothed  to  an  educated 
man.  Last  year  she  was  married  —  she  was  but  a  child 
still  —  and  I  have  only  seen  her  once  or  twice  since. 
Then  "  —  the  voice  paused  a  second.  "  She  was  very 
frightened,  poor  little  Premi,  at  what  was  coming.  *I 
shall  die,  Mis^-sahib,  I  shall  surely  die,'  she  said  to  me 
the  very  last  time  I  saw  her ;  so  I  promised  —  I  am  a 
medical  missionary,  Mr.  Carlyon.  But  when  the  time 
came,  they  would  not  let  me  in.  I  —  I  went  to  the 
husband  —  he  is  an  educated  man  —  you  may  have 
heard  of  him  —  Rama-nund,  a  great  speaker,  —  he 
writes,  too,  and  all  that — but  he  said  he  was  helpless 
with  the  women ;  and  I  am  not  sure  either  if  he  wished 
it  himself  —  they  don't  know  their  own  minds.  So  poor 
little  Premi  and  her  baby  —  Oh!"  she  broke  off  with 
an  infinite  pain  in  her  voice  —  "  it  is  so  hard  —  so  hard 
for  both." 

Her  face,  set  riverwards,  was  soft,  yet  stern ;  full  of 
fight,  yet  full  of  pity,  and  Lance  thought  of  a  virgin 
martyr  in  the  illustrated  *  Lives  of  the  Saints'  with 
which  his  grandmother.  Lady  Carewe,  had  been  wont  to 
still  his  boyish  unrest  on  Sunday  afternoons.  Yet 
there  was  something  beyond  that  self-concentrated 
devotion  in  this  face ;  something  that  took  him  back 
further  still  to  the  days  when  he  had  sobbed  out  his 
childish  hurts  in  his  mother's  arms. 

*'  She  was  ill  all  yesterday  and  the  day  before  —  they 
told  me  there  was  no  hope  of  either  —  they  just  let 


*'HE  SHALL  FEED  HIS  FLOCK  LIKE  A  SHEPHERD''       23 

them  die.  And  they  always  put  them  in  the  river  — 
they  have  iron  rings  round  their  wrists  and  ankles  to 
prevent  them  coming  back  to  harm  the  men  —  "  She 
paused  and  turned  to  Lance  swiftly.  "  Isn't  it  true  that 
there  are  not  enough  of  us  —  that  we  want  more  women 
to  teach  them  what  —  " 

"  But  I  does  ! "  came  a  high  childish  treble,  forcing 
itself  irresistibly  even  on  the  attention  of  these  two  ;  '*  I 
'ikes  '00  twenty  'fowsand  times  better  than  dad,  an'  I 
'ikes  Captain  Bering  ten  'fowsand  times  better  too  ;  an' 
so  does  'mum  —  don't  '00  mummie?" 

It  was  little  Gladys  Smith,  who,  clasping  both  Dn 
Dillon's  hands  in  hers,  had  swung  herself  back  from 
him  so  as  to  toss  her  fair  curls  from  her  laughing  face> 
as  she  looked  up  at  him  mutinously. 

There  was  an  instant's  awkward  pause,  during  which 
the  eyes  of  a  man  and  woman  met  for  a  second.  Met 
and  parted  hastily ;  but  not  before  the  girl  with  the 
yellow  silk  sash,  who  stood  between  them,  had  looked 
from  one  to  the  other  with  a  dim  surprise  unclosing  her 
red  lips,  and  showing  the  gleam  of  her  white  teeth 
between  them. 

Then  Dr.  Dillon  said,  carelessly,  "  And  you  like 
Akbar  Khan  better  than  any  of  us,  you  young  sinner, 
because  he  gives  you  sweeties  !  Here  !  Akbar  Khan, 
bring  the  M.\^sy-baba  some  cream  toffee  !  " 

The  old  pantaloon,  who,  with  his  loose  coatee  removed 
and  a  white  duster  tucked  into  Saturn's  waist-ring  was 
now  helping  to  hand  round  coffee  and  cake,  capered  up 
with  a  voluble,  but  toothless,  — 

"  Ger-reeb — pun-waz  !  "    (Protector  of  the  Poor.) 

Gladys  helped  herself  discriminately,  staring  at  the 
old  servitor  the  while.  "  But  I  don't  'ike  Akbar  Khan. 
Do  I,  son  of  an  owl  t "  she  continued  superbly,  in  the 
accurate  Urdu  which  comes  so  daintily  from  lisping 
English  babies.  '*  Did  I  not  say  I  would  hate  thee 
because  thou  wouldst  not  tell  me  why  thou  didst  pros- 
trate thyself  before  the  soldier  in  the  courtyard  }  And 
the  ayah  laughed,  the  base-born  !     She  knew  also,  and 


24  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

would  not  say,  and  so  did  the  soldier;  so  I  hate  you 
all ! " 

She  stamped  her  little  foot,  and  shook  her  curls  de- 
fiantly. 

"  Gladys  !  "  cried  her  mother,  reproachfully. 

"  Hullo  !  What's  all  this  about .?  "  laughed  Captain 
Dering,  catching  the  child  up  in  his  arms.  "  One  of  my 
soldiers  insulting  you  }  Who  was  it  .-*  "  He  turned, 
with  the  absolute  command  of  his  race,  to  the  be-ringed 
one,  who  stood,  full  of  deprecatory  mumblings  and 
salaamings,  his  hands,  holding  the  tray  of  sweets, 
trembling  visibly. 

"  Who  was  it,  Khan/^^  f  asked  Father  Ninian,  in  a 
curiously  even  tone ;  one  which,  nevertheless,  seemed  a 
compelling  one,  for  a  murmured  name  came  rapidly, 
followed  by  eager  explanations. 

Father  Ninian  frowned,  and  deliberately  put  on  the 
go\^  pince-nez  which  always  hung  around  his  neck.  He 
seldom  used  it,  however,  being,  he  would  say  playfully, 
in  his  native  Scotch,  too  "  well  acquaint  "  with  Eshwara 
and  all  in  it  to  need  such  help  after  fifty  years  ex- 
perience. So  it  had  come  to  be  an  unfailing  sign  that 
he  was  face  to  face  with  something  unexpected,  some- 
thing new.  Naturally,  therefore,  it  changed  the  character 
of  his  face,  bringing  back  to  it  a  strange  look  of  youth ; 
of  hope  and  energy — the  look  of  choice  which  age  has 
not. 

**  Roshan  Khan,"  he  echoed,  "  why  comes  he  here  } " 
Then  in  sudden  recollection  he  turned  to  Vincent  Der- 
ing. "  Of  course,  he  comes  with  you.  I  knew  he  was 
in  your  regiment,  but  I  did  not  think." 

Captain  Dering  put  down  the  child  gently.  "  Is  there 
any  reason,  sir,"  he  asked  decisively,  "why  he  should 
not  be  here  .-*     If  so  —  " 

Father  Ninian  took  off  his  eye-glasses  slowly.  He 
was  back  on  familiar  ground.  "  No  !  "  he  said,  with 
a  smile  and  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders ;  "  none.  He  is 
welcome  to  come  if  he  likes.  He  is  a  fine  soldier, 
Captain  Dering,  and  a  good  fencer." 


''HE  SHALL  FEED  HIS  FLOCK  LIKE  A  SHEPHERD''       2$ 

"  The  best  I  have  ever  come  across,"  put  in  Lance 
Carlyon. 

Father  Ninian  laughed,  a  satisfied,  vainglorious  little 
laugh,  and  bowed,  with  his  hand  on  his  heart,  in  foreign 
fashion.  It  seemed  almost  as  if  something  had  brought 
back  the  manners  of  a  different  life. 

"  His  master  thanks  you,"  he  said  gaily.  *'  I  taught 
him;  but  as  Esmond  said  of  the  botte  de  Jesuit — not 
all.  We  craftsmen  keep  something  up  our  sleeve  for 
our  own  use  !  " 

Lance  Carlyon 's  face  grew  eager.  He  had  heard  of 
Father  Ninian's  art  with  the  foils,  and  took  his  oppor- 
tunity. "  That's  what  Roshan  does  to  me.  I  took 
lessons  from  him,  but  he  licks  my  head  off  with  tricks. 
Perhaps  some  day,  sir — " 

Father  Ninian's  right  hand  and  wrist,  despite  their 
age,  flourished  themselves  with  marvellous  suppleness. 
"  Of  a  surety !  Of  a  surety,"  he  interrupted,  still  in 
that  gay,  almost  reckless  voice,  "  and  I  will  teach  you 
^UAddio  del  Marito.'  I  never  taught  that  to  Roshan  — 
it  does  not  do  for  savage  natures." 

"The  husband's  good-by!  What  a  funny  name," 
echoed  Laila,  curiously.  **Why  is  it  called  that, 
guardian  } " 

The  gaiety  left  the  old  man's  face. 

"  Because  the  thrust  is  used,  cava  mia,^'  he  replied  in 
Italian,  and  his  answer  came  dreamily,  half  to  himself, 
"when  even  those  who  have  that  greatest  tie  to  life 
prefer  to  say  good-by  to  it."  He  paused,  then  went  on 
cheerfully:  "  But  come !  Music!  Music!  We  lose 
time  horribly.     Laila,  'tis  your  part  to  begin." 

The  girl  walked  stolidly  to  the  piano. 

"  What  shall  I  sing,  guardian  } "  she  asked. 

"  Sing  }  "  he  repeated,  reverting  once  more  to  Italian, 
and  his  voice  had  the  dreamy  tone  in  it  again  ;  "  sing 
my  favourite,  child.  Something  hath  taken  me  back  to 
the  old  days  —  and  sing  it  well." 

Something  in  the  pose  of  the  girl,  something  in  the 
faint  defiance  of  her  face  as  she  stood  turning  over  the 


26  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

leaves  of  the  music,  attracted  Vincent  Bering's  fancy. 
He  moved  over  to  her,  and  asked  if  he  should  play  her 
accompaniment. 

**If  you  can,"  she  said,  ungraciously. 

He  smiled.  ''What  is  it.?  Oh!  — Handel."  He 
shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Yes !  I  fancy  I  can  play 
him — he  is  not  very  complex." 

The  next  instant  he  had  embarked,  with  a  certain 
sense  of  pique  lending  perfection  to  his  phrasing,  on 
the  prelude ;  but  perfect  as  his  tone  was,  it  seemed  to 
fall  dull  and  dead  before  the  voice  which  rose  and  echoed 
into  the  arches. 

"  He  shall  feed  His  flock  like  a  Shepherd." 

Pure,  peaceful,  free  from  every  touch  of  passion ; 
absolutely,  utterly,  beyond  this  world  and  its  works,  it 
rose  and  filled  the  garden ;  the  orange-scented  garden 
with  its  fretted  marble  cascades  and  water-maze,  where 
the  feet  of  laughing  girls  had  chased  each  other,  the 
latticed  balconies  where  lovers  had  sat. 

"And  He  shall  gather  the  lambs  in  His  arms." 

It  floated  out  over  the  river  where  the  dead  girl  had 
drifted,  making  a  light  come  to  a  pair  of  bronze  eyes. 

"  Come  unto  Him  all  ye  that  labor." 

Out  beyond  the  garden,  into  the  city,  a  faint  far  echo 
of  the  call  made  men  and  women  pause  in  the  struggle 
for  life,  and  say,  "  They  are  singing  in  the  palace." 

"  And  ye  shall  find  rest  unto  your  souls." 

The  promise  of  all  religions,  the  cry  which  makes  all 
creeds  one,  rose  and  fell,  as  the  afternoon  sun,  shining 
into  the  loggia,  put  a  canopy  of  stars  above  the  head  of 
the  singer. 

Some  of  the  audience  said  **  Thank  you,"  politely  when 
she  ended.  Vincent  Bering  did  not.  He  stood  on  one 
side,  and,  being  musical  to  the  heart's  core,  gave  himself 
the  luxury  of  silence.     Only  when  Father  Ninian,  ever 


DRIFTWOOD  27 

mindful  of  ceremonies  and  courtesies,  crossed  to  acknow- 
ledge the  services  of  the  accompanist,  he  said  briefly,  — 

"Who  taught  her  that?" 

The  old  man  looked  at  him  almost  wistfully :  "  I  heard 
her  grandmother  sing  it,  nearly  sixty  years  ago.  I  have 
never  forgotten  it." 

**  I  do  not  wonder,"  said  Vincent  Bering,  and  his  eyes, 
forgetful  of  others,  followed  the  girl  whose  dress  ought 
to  have  been  creamy  and  soft,  instead  of  white  and 
starched. 

CHAPTER   III 

DRIFTWOOD 

The  river  Hara,  after  skirting  the  fort,  the  bathing- 
steps  below  the  courtyard,  the  palace,  and  the  palace 
garden,  continued  its  course,  still  hemmed  in  to  swift 
current  by  a  high  bank  on  the  opposite  side,  and  on  the 
near  one  by  a  wall  set  with  spiked  temples  sacred  to 
Siva ;  for  Hara  is  one  of  his  many  names.  But,  on 
reaching  the  apex  of  the  triangle  formed  by  the  city, 
the  banks  fell  away,  the  river  spread  itself  out  to  greater 
rest,  until,  at  the  uttermost  end  of  a  long  spit  of  sand- 
bank and  tamarisk,  it  met  the  waters  of  its  twin  river, 
the  Hari,  in  the  broad  placid  lagoon  which  lay  between 
Eshwara  and  the  south ;  that  is  the  dry  stretch  of  desert, 
against  whose  barrenness  Western  ingenuity  —  aided 
by  Dr.  Dillon's  horde  of  fifteen  hundred  ruffians  —  had 
been  digging  defiance  for  months.  From  the  spit  of 
sand  you  could  see  the  result.  A  broad  seam  on  the 
face  of  patient  Mother  Earth,  a  first  wrinkle  telling  of 
millions  to  come  from  the  ploughshares  of  men. 

As  yet,  however,  the  canal  was  as  dry  as  the  desert 
around  it ;  and  was  to  remain  so  until  the  great  Lord- 
sahib  came  in  state,  on  his  way  to  the  hills,  to  open  the 
sluices.  There  was  to  be  a  big  camp,  a  big  function  on 
the  occasion,  and  even  sleepy  Eshwara  felt  a  vague  ex- 
citement regarding  it.     For  the  older  men  remembered 


28  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

the  days  when  the  Hosts  of  the  \.oxd.-sahibs  had  regu- 
larly passed  through  the  city,  and  had  tales  to  tell  about 
them ;  a  fact  which  prevented  the  coming  event  from 
being  too  strange  even  to  be  thought  about !  Then  the 
opening  of  the  canal  was  another  disturber  of  primeval 
calm.  True,  the  idea  of  it  had  been  with  Eshwara  ever 
since  the  first  sod  had  been  turned  two  years  before ; 
but  now  the  thing  stared  it  in  the  face.  Within  a  few 
days  the  waters  of  the  sacred  rivers  would  have  to  lie 
in  a  new  bed.  Would  they  like  it }  Would  the  gods 
like  it }     Would  men  like  it } 

Those  were  the  questions  being  asked  from  one  end 
of  Eshwara  to  another.  Even  outside  it,  on  the  long 
narrow  spit  of  sand-bank  set  with  sparse  tussocks  of 
grass  and  tamarisk  which  reached  beyond  the  city's  tri- 
angle into  the  rivers  —  and  where,  after  a  flood,  the 
white  gypsum  silt  lay  like  a  robe  of  righteousness  — 
they  were  being  discussed ;  for  the  strange  race  who 
lived  on  it,  shifting  their  wigwams  of  grass  to  the  low- 
lying  land  opposite  when  the  waters  rose,  lived  by  the 
river ;  by  the  fish  in  it,  and  the  logs  of  wood  which 
came  floating  down  it. 

So  this  question  of  the  canal  was  in  the  mind  of  the 
naked  man,  attired  in  the  complete  suit  of  blue  beads 
which  marks  an  aboriginal  race,  who,  in  the  dawn  fol- 
lowing, squatted  on  the  highest  curve  of  the  spit.  He 
was  small,  swart  to  positive  inkiness,  and  his  thin  legs 
and  arms  shewed  grey  lights  on  their  tense  muscles,  as 
if  these  were  truly  iron.  Behind  him  rose  a  wigwam  of 
reeds,  at  the  entrance  to  which  a  spear  was  stuck  in  the 
sand  in  order  to  display  the  head  of  a  bottle-nosed  alli- 
gator impaled  on  its  point.  At  his  right  hand  was  a 
reed  basket,  a  rude  net  of  reed  twine.  In  front  of  him 
lay  one  of  those  small  shark-like  scaleless  fishes  which 
the  learned  call  Silurian,  and  tell  us  are  relics  of  a  crea- 
tion older  than  ours. 

So  might  the  man  have  been.  So  might  have  been 
the  background  of  sand  and  reed,  spear  and  wigwam, 
the  foreground  of  net  and  fish.     Yet  the  fisher  was  not 


DRIFTWOOD  29 

all  uncivilized.  This  little  survival  of  an  aboriginal  race, 
shifting  about  in  the  shifting  river-bed,  had  always  had 
an  attraction  for  the  Missionaries,  who,  as  a  rule,  find 
the  inferior  races  easiest  to  deal  with.  Gu-gu  therefore 
—  his  name  being  as  primitive  as  his  appearance,  since 
it  is  the  first  effort  of  infant  tongues  —  belied  his  looks. 
He  had  at  any  rate  a  civilized  eye  to  business,  a  civilized 
notion  of  the  relations  between  supply  and  demand,  for 
he  shook  his  head  at  the  customer  opposite  him. 

"Not  a  cowrie  less,  Khan-jee.  'Tis  the  only  one  in 
the  market,  see  you;  besides  on  this  day  the  '  Missen* 
miss  comes  to  us  folk,  and  she  never  haggles.  She  will 
pay  the  five  annas  gladly  to  be  let  read  her  book  to  my 
women." 

The  mumble — apparently  a  pious  aspiration  that 
the  Most  High  would  smite  infidels  hip  and  thigh  — 
was  the  only  recognizable  point  in  the  figure  on  the 
other  side  of  the  fish  ;  for  Akbar  Khan,  doorkeeper, 
messenger,  assistant  waiter,  had  not  only  discarded 
Saturn's  rings  —  the  loss  of  which  about  his  head  made 
his  baldness  something  of  a  shock  —  but  also  every  arti- 
cle of  clothing  except  his  waist-cloth.  The  reason  for 
this  was,  in  a  way,  like  many  another  thing  about  the 
old  sinner,  pathetic.  Briefly  he  liked  to  dissociate  his 
inner  self  from  occupations  which  he  considered  were 
beneath  the  dignity  of  the  Akbar  Khan  of  the  past. 
Therefore  being,  for  the  nonce,  a  bazaar  coolie  in  search 
of  fish  for  his  master's  breakfast,  he  got  up  for  the  part ; 
so  finding  it,  at  once,  easier  to  forget,  and  to  remember 
that  past. 

He  mumbled  of  it  as  he  strenuously  opposed  the  price. 

"  Everything  grows  dearer,  every  day,"  yawned  the 
aboriginal  Gu-gu.  "Even  women,  as  thou  shouldst 
know." 

Akbar  Khan  clucked  a  pious  denial.  "  We  spread 
no  nets  for  that  game  in  the  palace  nowadays.  Those 
evil  times  are  gone  ;  we  live  sober  and  virtuous."  The 
piety  held  a  distinct  flavour  of  regret. 

"And  as  for  fish,"  continued   Gu-gu,  "they  will  be 


30  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

dearer  ere  they  are  cheaper.  When  the  deep  water 
begins  to  run  canalwards,  the  fish  will  run  too.  Then 
good-by  to  our  trade,  since  the  Huzoors  allow  us  nothing 
in  their  waters  without  payment." 

He  whined,  however,  to  the  wrong  quarter  for  sym- 
pathy, the  old  retainer's  views  on  preserving  being 
absolutely  those  of  a  Shropshire  squire  who  is  also  a 

J.  p. 

"  Neither  did  we,"  he  replied,  indifferently.  "  Thy  like, 
Gu-gu,  would  have  had  to  bring  thy  fish  to  the  palace 
and  be  satisfied  with  our  leavings.  Out  on  thee  for  an  up- 
start !     Take  thy  four  annas,  and  be  thankful  —  slave  !  " 

Gu-gu's  ill-tempered  face  became  aggressive.  "  Not 
I  !  —  the  Miss  will  give  it ;  nay!  six,  mayhap,  since  the 
child  is  sick,  and  she  will  be  wanting  leave  to  dose  it. 
So —  hands  off  —  eunuch  !  " 

The  title,  once  dignified,  was  opprobrious  now,  and 
old  Akbar  rose  in  a  perfect  fury,  his  bald  head  wob- 
bling, the  flaming  fringe  of  red  hairs  about  his  face 
giving  him  a  ludicrous  resemblance  to  a  toothless  old 
man-eating  tiger,  face  to  face  with  his  lawful  prey,  yet 
unable  to  injure  it. 

"Oh!  for  the  bastinado!"  he  stuttered,  impotently. 
*'  Oh,  for  the  cutting  off  of  bodily  members  !  Oh  I 
even,  for  the  tying  up  of  heels,  and  roastings  and 
duckings.  But  the  Huzoors  have  taken  them  from 
us,  and  gifted  them  to  the  police,  who  know  not  the 
proper  methods.  Yah  !  Gu-gu,  had  I  but  had  thee  fifty 
years  ago  ! "  his  anger  lessened  with  sheer  wistful  regret. 
**  Fifty  years  ago  when  the  Nawab  gifted  me  as  body- 
servant  to  the  new  Wazeer  '^uxi-2M2X%x^-sahib  because  he 
brought  him  a  bird  that  would  sing  of  itself  from  Italy 
wilayat'^ 

"  But  all  birds  do  that,"  cavilled  Gu-gu,  feeling  never- 
theless a  reverent  curiosity  about  those  legendary  days. 

Akbar  gave  a  crackUng,  contemptuous  laugh.  "  Not 
palace  birds !  they  have  to  be  wound  up ;  and  Bun- 
avatar- j^///^  sent  for  this  across  the  black  water.     So 

1  Bonaventura. 


DRIFTWOOD  31 

he  kept  favour  with  the  Nawab.  Birds  that  sing,  and 
flowers  that  smell,  and  boxes  that  make  music,  and 
dolls  that  dance  when  you  wind  them.  Lo !  these, 
Gu-gu,  are  the  pleasures  of  palaces ;  but  how  canst 
thou  know,  who  hast  not  lived  in  them  even,  as  I — " 

The  sense  of  his  own  superiority  soothed  him  still 
more ;  he  squatted  down  again,  and  hubble-bubbled  for 
a  space  at  the  hookah  which  was  an  integral  part  of  all 
his  impersonations. 

"  Yea  !  those  were  times,"  he  mumbled  half  to  himself. 
**Even  Pidar  Narayan  —  may  Heaven  protect  him  — 
could  not  say  *  please  God '  to  every  mouthful,  as  he  does 
now — as  we  all  do  now,  and  rightly,  seeing  that  we  have 
grown  old."  Once  more  the  piety  smacked  of  pity,  and 
the  old  man,  finding  a  listener,  went  on  with  a  certain 
gusto.  "  Look  you !  he  had  to  walk  like  the  tongue 
among  thirty-two  teeth  in  those  days,  with  Bun-avatar- 
sahib,  my  master,  like  two  peas  in  one  pod  with  the  Nawah. 
Except  for  women.  Pidar  Narayan  took  his  way  there 
—  mostly ! " 

The  interrupting  gurgle  of  the  hookah  gave  time  for 
an  elaborate  wink  of  a  wicked  old  eye.  Possibly  this 
was  due  to  the  smoke,  for  the  old  voice  went  on  as 
before  almost  dolorously. 

*'  He  had  the  money-bags,  you  see,  and  looked  after 
the  rents.  But  my  master.  Bun-avatar  —  lo !  thou 
shouldst  have  seen  him  when  he  came  first  —  the 
picture  of  a  man !  —  they  say  he  was  a  prince  in  his 
own  country,  but  fell  into  trouble;  so  came  to  make 
his  fortune  here  with  Pidar  Narayan  —  was  called 
Wazeer.  And  let  me  tell  thee,  Gu-gu,  it  means  some- 
thing to  be  body-servant  to  a  Wazeer !  Lo  !  to  think  I 
might  have  been  it  still  but  for  that  jade,  Anari  Begum !  " 

Despite  the  epithet,  he  smiled,  and  his  pipe  this 
time  gave  out  quite  a  chuckling  sound. 

"As  ill  to  keep  within  walls  as  a  butterfly!"  he 
muttered.  *'Up  and  down  the  garden,  in  and  out 
the  balconies,  and  the  Nawab  in  two  minds  to  use  force, 
or    put   her   in   a   sack.     For   she   flouted   him.     The 


32  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

prettiest  ones  play  that  game  for  power  always,  and  she 
was  Walidad,  her  brother's,  last  hope  of  favour.  Wali- 
dad,  Kanjara^  who  had  been  king's  caterer  for  years 
before  my  master,  Bun-avatar-j^/^//5,  came  to  make  all 
the  court  cry  sour  buttermilk  !  Walidad,  who  had  once 
stood  so  high, ,  that,  in  a  drunken  bout,  the  Nawab 
promised  him  his  half-sister  to  wife.  And  he  got 
her  too  !  She  wept  on  her  wedding  day,  but  we  in  the 
lower  storey  heeded  not  tears  in  the  upper.  For,  see 
you,  mine  uncle  was  chief  eunuch  —  we  kept  the 
honour  thus  in  the  family  from  generation  to  generation 

—  so  I  was  in  and  out,  seeing  what  went  on.  Until 
somehow  (mine  uncle  with  the  bowstring  round  his  neck 

—  as  was  right,  honest  man  —  swore  he  knew  not  how) 
Bun-avatar-5^^/<^  caught  a  sight  of  her !  Some  say 
it  was  a  plot,  from  beginning  to  end,  of  Walidad's  ; 
others  that  his  enemies  feared  lest  Anari  should  succeed. 
There  be  balls  within  balls,  even  in  a  plaything,  if  the 
workmen  are  cunning  !     Anyhow,  he  saw  her. 

"And  I,  his  body-servant,  was  able  to  come  and  go 
where  Pidar  Narayan  hath  made  his  church  nowadays. 
But  there !  what  matters  it  .-*  'Tis  all  one.  Love  and 
the  Faith  are  in  and  out  of  men's  minds  like  a  shell- 
drake  in  weedy  water ;  a  body  cannot  tell  which 
way  its  head  may  be  and  which  its  tail !  Nevertheless 
I  felt  a  choke  at  my  throat,  Gu-gu,  many  a  time,  as 
I  waited  for  him  in  the  boat  below  the  balcony  ;  yet 
in  the  end,  it  was  not  my  throat,  but  mine  uncle's.  He 
died  in  the  faith,  Gu-gu,  cursing  women.  His  head  was 
that  way  at  the  last  !  —  'Tis  mostly  so  —  he  —  he  —  " 

The  chuckle  of  his  pipe  was  fiendish,  yet  his  wizened 
face  was  wistful.  "  Still,  God  knows,  one  could  scarce 
look  on  at  such  a  wooing,  and  not  beat  the  drum  in 
time,  as  musicians  to  a  dancer.  And  it  runs  in  our 
blood,  see  you,  to  watch,  and  beat  the  drum.  That  is 
our  profession ;  and,  by  mine  ancestors !  I  deemed 
it  enough  for  mortal  man.  But  Bun-avat^r-x^^j/z/^^,  see 
you,  was  not  of  our  race.  He  was  of  Italy  wilayat  and 
a  prince.      So,  one  day,  my  liver  dissolved  hearing  that 


DRIFTWOOD  33 

the  butterfly  was  over  the  walls !  But,  as  I  said,  it  was 
mine  uncle's  neck,  not  mine.  Yet  the  game  ended  for 
me  when  Bun-avatar-i-^/^/^^  died." 

"  They  poisoned  him,  folk  say ;  is't  true  } "  asked 
Gu-gu.  It  was  a  point  in  the  oft-told  tale  which  was 
still  discussed  by  Eshwara  gossips. 

*'That  is  other  folks'  news,  not  mine,"  replied 
Akbar,  discreetly.  "  May  be,  may  be  not.  The  Hti- 
zoors,  anyhow,  sent  the  Nawab  to  die  in  Calcutta  on 
a  pinsott}-  for  it ;  but  they  have  ever  an  excuse  to  take 
land !  Pidar  Narayan  had  a  hard  fight  to  keep  Bun- 
2iM2X^x-sahib'' s  grants  —  the  Nawab  was  ever  generous 
to  his  favourites,  look  you  —  for  Anari  Begum's  baby; 
ay  !  though  he  showed  a  writing  of  marriage,  and  had 
made  the  infant  Christian  after  their  habit.  Still  he 
got  them,  land  and  palace  and  all.  So  I  stayed  on  serving 
my  master's  child,  and  when  she  died,  her  child,  the 
M\^^-baba^  even  to  the  haggling  for  fish.  Lo !  slave ! 
it  grows  late.  Give  it  to  me  and  have  done  with  it  — 
Thou  wilt  not.  Oh !  for  the  devil  that  was  in  her 
grandmother  Anar  to  be  in  this  Mi?>s-baba,  and  for 
her  to  come  to  Bun-avatar-j^/^/^^'.y  rights  as  Wazeer — 
then  would  there  be  loppings  and  —  " 

**  Or  if  Roshan  Khan  should  come  to  his,"  sneered 
Gu-gu.  "  The  canal  sahib's  ayah  was  telling  me  thou 
didst  prostrate  thyself  in  the  dust  as  if  he  were  indeed 
Nawab  !  Have  a  care  !  eunuch^/V^,  the  police  are  agog 
nowadays  to  find  disloyalty  even  in  newspapers." 

"  May  her  gossiping  tongue  be  slit ! "  stuttered  the 
old  retainer.  ''  Can  a  body  not  do  obeisance  to  his 
masters }  For  look  you,  Roshan  is  true  grand-nephew 
to  the  Nawab  through  his  grandmother,  Waliddd's  wife 
—  ay  !  and  for  that  matter,  cousin  to  the  Miss,  through 
Anari  Begum,  Walidad's  sister  !  I  did  but  welcome  him  ; 
I  did  but  my  duty  —  I  did  but  show  my  manners  —  I  did 
but  what  we  have  done  from  generation  to  generation." 
He  moved  away  muttering,  full  of  virtuous  resentment 
that  a  suspicion  of  anything  save  sheer  servility  should 

1  Pension. 
D 


34  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

have  been  imputed  to  him.  After  a  lifetime  of  truck- 
lings  and  bootblackings,  to  be  credited  with  higher  mo- 
tives was  too  bad.  To  prove  his  innocence  he  would 
that  very  evening,  he  told  himself,  seek  out  Roshan,  not 
at  the  Fort, —  that  might  be  misunderstood,  —  but  at  his 
grandmother's.  His  grandmother,  who,  though  she  had 
been  upstart  Walidad's  wife,  was  still  the  late  Nawab's 
half-sister !  His  sister ! !  What  could  be  nearer  than 
that ! ! ! 

And  he  would  prostrate  himself  again,  and  assure  the 
family  of  his  services.      That  was  his  birthright. 

Meanwhile  Gu-gu  looked  after  him,  and  laughed.  He 
was  a  clever  fellow,  was  Gu-gu,  and  in  a  previous  genera- 
tion of  scholars  had  been  pet  pupil  in  a  little  school 
started  by  another  Miss  from  another  Missen.  He  had 
got  pennies  for  attending  it,  which  had  come  in  useful 
before  he  was  big  enough  to  face  the  river. 

But  now  he  was  the  best  man  on  either  the  Hara  or 
the  Hari,  save  one.     And  he  .'' 

Gu-gu's  beady  black  eyes,  watching  the  curve  of  the 
current  mechanically,  gave  a  sudden  flash.  He  was  on 
his  feet  in  a  second.  There  was  something  dipping, 
diving,  sidling,  drifting,  out  yonder  which  might  be 
secured  for  his  wigwam  before  anyone  else  saw  it !  But 
as,  silently,  like  a  seal's,  his  black  head  came  up  from 
his  first  forge  under  water  which  was  to  give  him  a  fair 
start  from  the  shore  without  even  a  splash  to  attract 
notice,  another  black  head  showed  to  the  right  of  him, 
a  yard  or  two  behind. 

But  it  was  his  head !  Am-ma's  head !  Am-ma,  the 
frog-Uke,  Am-ma,  whose  wide  hands  and  feet  looked  as 
if  webbed  in  the  water.  Am-ma,  the  only  man  who 
could  touch  him.  He  set  his  teeth,  gave  up  silence,  and 
surged  ahead  with  an  overhand  stroke,  his  hand  seeming 
to  clutch  and  hold  the  water.  It  was  a  faster  stroke  than 
Am-ma's ;  for  a  time  the  swifter.  Then  with  a  back- 
ward glance  he  drew  a  quick  breath,  knowing  it  would 
be  a  race  indeed,  for  the  black  head  had  gone,  and  only  a 
faint  wale  on  the  smooth  water  told  where  his  rival,  avoid- 


DRIFTWOOD  35 

ing  the  slight  resistance  of  the  air,  swam  like  a  fish. 
Dangerous  tactics  for  most  men,  ending  often  in  a  sudden 
collapse,  bleedings  from  nose  and  ears,  or,  at  least,  time 
lost  in  coming  to  the  surface.  But  Am-ma  was  not  as 
other  men.  Half-witted,  except  in  river  lore,  uncouth, 
misshapen,  he  was  practically  amphibious. 

Gu-gu  ground  his  teeth  impotently  as  the  faint  wale 
crept  up  and  up.  The  man  must  have  air  in  his  stomach 
like  a  fish  !  Ah  !  if  the  river  had  been  in  flood,  if  this 
had  been  a  race  with  air  bladders,  indeed,  —  one  black 
head  of  inflated  skin  under  each  arm,  and  your  own  in 
the  middle  —  the  issue  would  have  been  certain  ;  for  no 
one,  in  the  whole  tribe,  knew  the  backward  rip  of  a 
knife  from  below  which  would  leave  a  rival  helpless,  lop- 
sided, bound  to  seek  safety  on  shore,  so  well  as  Gu-gu ! 
But  it  was  not  flood  time,  so  he  must  risk  all.  Like  a 
porpoise  at  play  the  curve  of  his  dark  back  disappeared, 
and  now  there  were  two  wales  upon  the  water  side  by  side. 

And  ahead,  sidling,  dipping,  diving  to  the  current  was 
a  deodar  log  with  the  broad  arrow  of  government  on  it, 
now  visible,  now  out  of  sight. 

It  was  a  question  of  steering ;  steering  without  eyes, 
steering  by  instinct,  steering  by  sheer  experience  of  logs 
and  their  ways,  of  the  meeting  currents  of  the  two 
rivers  and  their  ways. 

And  over  against  them,  to  the  right  across  the  broad 
lagoon,  were  low  brick  buildings,  and  a  horde  of  fifteen 
hundred  ruffians  with  fascines  and  earth-baskets  finish- 
ing a  dam  that  was  to  alter  the  currents,  and  protect  the 
canal !    They  looked  like  swarming  ants  in  the  sunshine. 

The  wales  were  neck  and  neck  now,  side  by  side, 
straight  as  a  die  on  the  log.  Then  suddenly,  the  right- 
hand  one  swerved  outward.  Only  a  yard  or  two  ;  a 
yard  or  two  nearer  to  the  ants  in  the  sunshine. 

A  second  after  the  log  swerved  also  —  swerved  to  the 
right.  The  next,  two  black  heads  rose  silently  ;  but  one 
of  them  was  two  yards  to  the  left  of  that  dancing,  dip- 
ping prize ! 

Gu-gu,  breathless  as  he  was,  gave  an  inarticulate  cry 


36  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

of  rage,  and  shook  his  fist  at  the  swarming  ants. 
Already  their  work  was  altering  the  currents  he  had 
known  for  so  long.  That  it  was  possible  to  allow  for 
this,  as  Am-ma  had  done,  did  not  comfort  him.  He 
swam  back  sulkily,  his  wrath  increased  by  the  knowledge 
one  glance  had  given  him,  that  the  log  on  which  his  rival 
was  paddling  to  shore  triumphantly  bore  its  broad 
arrow  so  lightly,  and  so  near  its  end,  that  a  little  dexter- 
ous manipulation  would  have  left  the  runaway  un- 
marked, and  so  given  its  captor  the  right,  not  merely  of 
ransom,  but  of  sale  ! 

Truly,  it  was  an  ill  world  for  the  poor ! 

But  Lance  Carlyon  laughed,  as  he  lounged  over  his 
early  tea  and  watched  the  river  through  his  field-glass, 
in  a  balcony  of  the  fort,  dressed  in  a  gorgeous  ring- 
streaked  sleeping  suit  which  he  could  only  wear  when 
on  outpost  duty,  as  the  regiment  had  tabooed  it.  In 
truth  it  made  him  not  unlike  Tom  Sawyer's  *'  Royal 
Nonsuch." 

**  The  little  'un's  got  it !  I  say !  Bering,  I  believe  I 
shall  like  Eshwara.  It's  —  it's  —  new  —  don't  you 
know."  His  eyes  rested,  as  he  spoke,  on  the  low, 
bastioned  building,  all  hemmed  in  by  temple  spires,  at 
the  very  point  of  the  city's  triangle,  which  Erda  Shep- 
herd had  told  him  was  the  mission  house.  Truly,  he 
thought,  she  was  in  the  thick  of  it ! 

*'  New ! "  echoed  Vincent  Bering  captiously,  *'  I  should 
have  called  it  old.  I  thought  that  sort  of  thing  had  died 
with  the  pagoda  tree." 

"  What  sort  of  thing  } " 

Vincent  nodded  towards  the  palace  with  an  odd, 
cynical  laugh.  **  That ;  it 's  ghostly.  Boesn't  belong 
to  the  nineteenth  century  !  " 

Lance  turned  curiously.  "I  said  that  to  —  to  Pidar 
Narayan  —  I  can't  call  him  anything  else,  somehow  — 
when  he  was  showing  me  over  yesterday.  And  —  you 
know  that  inscrutable  smile  of  his  —  he  just  pointed  up 
to  the  telegraph  wires  —  they  go  right  across  the  garden 
you  know  —  and  said,   'There  is  half  the  news  of  half 


UNDER-  CURRENTS 


17 


the  world  over  our  heads,  anyhow.'  It  knocked  me 
over,  I  tell  you,  to  think  of  it ;  and  by  Jove  !  Bering, 
next  week  when  the  'L.oxdi-saJiib  comes  —  " 

Vincent  Bering  laughed  boisterously.  ''There'll  be 
the  millennium,  of  course.  Come  along,  Lance  !  It's 
time  we  were  off  to  prepare  his  way.  Bashwood  wants 
it  done  Ai.  They  are  going  to  lay  on  electric  light, 
and  all  that.  By  the  way,  Mrs.  Smith  told  me  to  tell 
you  she  expected  you  to  breakfast." 

Ten  minutes  afterwards  they  were  riding  over  the  boat 
bridge  to  superintend  the  laying  out  of  the  Vice-regal 
camp  against  the  coming  of  the  l^oxdi-sahib  and  his  hosts. 


CHAPTER   IV 

UNDER-CURRENTS 

MuMTAZA  Mahal,  Roshan  Khdn's  grandmother,  lived 
in  a  queer  little  backwater  of  a  house  which  had  eddied 
itself  away  from  the  main  stream  of  the  town,  and 
jammed  itself  against  a  wall  of  the  palace  as  if  seeking 
dignity  thereby.  For  all  that  it  belonged  irredeemably 
to  the  city,  and  to  its  evil-smelling  lanes.  The  word 
house,  however,  is  misleading  to  western  ears,  since  this 
was  simply  a  well-like  courtyard,  with  a  great  wooden 
bed  set  in  the  centre  under  a  miserable  attempt  at  a 
tree  which  was  used  as  a  clothes-peg,  a  rack  for  sauce- 
pans, and  a  variety  of  other  domestic  purposes.  It  ful- 
filled them  to  the  perfect  satisfaction  of  its  proprietress, 
a  roundabout  old  lady,  plump  as  a  button-quail,  who, 
when  she  was  not  asleep  inside  the  arcaded  slip  of  a 
room  on  one  side,  passed  her  time  on  the  bed  in  the 
scanty  shade,  keeping  company  with  a  sausage-roll  of  a 
pillow  and  a  quilt,  both  covered  in  faded,  greasy  silk. 
As  a  rule  she  did  nothing  save  eat  pan  ;  though  some- 
times, as  a  favour  to  Erda  Shepherd,  who  came  to  read 
to  her  once  a  week,  she  would  give  a  few  more  stitches 
to  a  knitted  comforter  which  never  seemed  to  get  any 


38  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

longer.  It  had  been  begun,  indeed,  under  the  auspices 
of  another  ''  Miss,"  who  had  returned  to  England  only 
to  die,  as  so  many  do,  from  exposure,  and  overwork, 
and  homesickness.  For  the  rest,  Mumtaza  was  an  arro- 
gant, yet  good-natured  old  soul,  who,  despite  those  tears 
on  her  wedding-day,  had  kept  dissolute  Walidad  under  her 
thumb,  and  his  son  also.  Therefore,  it  was  one  of  her 
pet  grievances  —  and  she  had  many  —  that  Roshan,  her 
grandson,  should  have  defied  her  authority  and  entered 
the  army.  The  great  standing  grievance,  however,  was 
that  the  ^^  pin  son'''  she  received  from  Government  be- 
cause her  husband  had  been  deported  with  the  Nawab 
to  Calcutta,  was  not  so  large  as  one  received  by  a  neigh- 
bour and  gossip  whose  husband  had  been  hanged  in  the 
mutiny !  The  two  old  ladies  came  to  loggerheads  over 
their  respective  claims  once  a  month,  regularly,  when 
pay-day  came  round ;  Mumtaza  asserting  shrilly  that  to 
die  in  a  strange  country  was  more  painful  than  hanging, 
Ashraf-un-nissa  contending  roundly  that  if  Waliddd 
had  had  as  much  respectful  affection  for  his  widow 
as  her  husband  had  had  for  his,  he  could  easily  have 
caused  himself  to  be  hanged ;  since  he  had  certainly 
deserved  it. 

Whereat  there  would  be  war,  until  some  one  in  the 
alley,  or  round  the  corner  did  something  outrageous,  — 
threw  slops  over  some  one,  or  had  twins,  or  imported  a 
new  mother-in-law  !  Then,  friendly  discussion  becoming 
a  necessity  of  life,  the  big  wooden  bed  would  once  more 
hold  two  old  ladies,  two  roly-poly  bolsters,  two  quilts  — 
also  two  tongues !  But  these  confined  themselves,  for  a 
time,  to  lesser  grievances ;  such  as  the  general  deca- 
dence of  the  age,  manifested  by  the  reluctance  of  young 
people  to  obey  the  old. 

There  was,  however,  no  sign  of  displeasure  in  the  re- 
ception prepared  for  Roshan,  when  one  afternoon,  im- 
mediately after  his  arrival  at  EshwaVa,  he  appeared  to 
prostrate  himself  at  the  feet  of  age ;  at  least  so  he  had 
said  in  his  letter  of  intimation.  Mumtaza  Mahal  knew 
her  duty  towards  men-folk  better  than  to  show  temper  at 


UNDER-CURRENTS  39 

once ;  knew  also  the  suffocating  effect  of  ceremonials. 
So  the  tarnished  treasures  of  past  state  had  been  dug 
out  of  the  mounds  of  litter  heaped  up  in  all  four  corners 
of  the  arcaded  room,  and  set  about  the  courtyard.  An 
old  elephant-housing  covered  the  wooden  bed,  and  to  it 
Roshan  was  conducted  :  his  grandmother,  despite  her 
best  green  satin  trousers,  squatting  below,  on  a  mat. 

The  young  soldier  felt  and  looked  thoroughly  uncom- 
fortable. Out  of  sheer  funk  of  the  old  lady's  remarks  if 
he  had  appeared  in  his  usual  mufti  of  English  tweed 
and  a  close-fitting  turban,  he  had  reverted  to  the  airy- 
muslins  and  embroidered  smoking-caps  of  his  forbears. 
He  felt  chilly,  barely  decent  in  them ;  and,  indeed,  the 
whole  environment  was  absolutely  repugnant  to  him. 
His  grandmother's  tramways  could  scarcely  be  other- 
wise to  one  who  had  gone  ahead  by  express  train  like 
Roshan  Khan.  Thoroughly  well-educated,  he  knew 
himself  to  be  considered  one  of  the  smartest  native 
officers  in  the  army.  A  first-class  polo  player,  a  fair 
cricketer,  able  to  handle  cue  and  racket,  and  without 
equal  at  the  foils,  he  had  for  years  met  Englishmen  on 
equal  terms  in  sporting  matters.  What  wonder,  then,, 
that  he  sat  looking  inexpressibly  bored  beside  the 
hookah  which  was  the  pride  of  his  grandmamma's  heart, 
in  that  it  had  belonged  to  many  dead  and  gone  Nawabs  > 
He  was  simply  longing  for  the  solace  of  a  smoke,  yet  he 
did  not  dare  to  use  the  silver  cigarette  case  with  his  ini- 
tials, "  R.K."  on  it,  which  Lance  Carlyon  had  given  him 
at  Christmas  in  return  for  the  fencing  lessons.  Fortu- 
nately, however,  boredom  and  yawns  are  correct  during 
visits  of  ceremony,  so  Mumtaza  Mahal  crossed  her  little 
fat  hands  over  her  little  fat  green-trousered  legs,  and 
told  herself  the  lad  was  improved  in  both  manners  and 
looks ;  was  distinctly  more  like  her  brother,  the  late 
and  sainted  Nawab.  The  fact  emphasized  her  regret 
that,  after  a  brilliant  career  in  a  mission  school,  a  career 
which  must  have  led  to  a  minor  clerkship,  her  grandson 
should  have  taken  the  unheard-of  course  of  entering  the 
army !     If   he  could  even   have  gone  as  the  Nawab' s 


40  THE  HOSTS   OF   THE  LORD 

grand-nephew,  with  a  dozen  troopers  or  so  as  following, 
it  might  have  been  bearable;  but,  as  Walidad's  extraction 
barred  all  claim  to  noble  descent,  enlistment  meant 
something  very  different.  The  old  lady,  accustomed 
to  obedience  all  round,  when  the  dreadful  defiance  had 
occurred,  ten  years  before,  had  called  the  stars  to  wit- 
ness that  it  was  all  —  that  everything  was  —  Pidar 
Narayan's  fault !  And  then  she  had  fallen  a-whimper- 
ing,  knowing  right  well  that  but  for  the  latter's  inter- 
cession, she  herself  would  have  had  no  ^* pinson" ;  since 
Government  bars  those  who  can  be  proved  to  be  per- 
sonally implicated  in  evil  doings.  And  now,  as  she  sat 
looking  at  her  grandson,  the  same  conflicting  estimates 
made  her  irritable.  Why  had  Pidar  Narayan  ever  put 
his  finger  in  the  Eshwara  pie  .-*  Yet,  without  him, 
where  would  they  all  have  been  "i  Still,  he  need  not 
have  taught  the  lad  to  fence,  and  so  turned  him  into  a 
mean,  common  soldier. 

Now,  whether  this  was  true,  whether  his  skill  with 
the  foils  had  turned  Roshan's  thoughts  towards  a  fight- 
ing life,  or  whether  it  was  simply  the  result  of  natural 
aptitudes  that  way,  the  choice  of  professions  had  been 
wise.  His  Colonel,  —  of  the  old  school  though  he  was, 
—  had  admitted,  when  pressed,  that  the  young  Mahome- 
d^n,  given  practice,  might  be  able  to  lead  the  regiment 
as  well  as  a  fresh-joined  English  subaltern.  The  newer 
school,  again,  playing  the  Kideg  spiel  against  him  at 
Simla,  and  finding  itself  in  grips  with  a  genuine  gift  for 
tactics,  had  shaken  its  head  and  confessed  the  hardship 
of  such  a  talent  being  barred  from  finding  its  proper 
level.  Still  it  was  impossible  to  legislate  for  exceptions 
without  upsetting  the  every-day  army  apple-cart. 

Roshan  himself,  being  sensible — above  all,  being  of  a 
nation  which  accepts  limitations  as  a  law  of  God  —  was, 
as  a  rule,  satisfied  with  his  future  r/>z7<^<3:r  majorship,  and, 
if  he  was  lucky,  Aide-de-Camp  to  the  Qtieeii,  and  a  few 
other  titles  tacked  on  to  it.  Like  all  natives  of  India 
he  lived  largely  on  the  approbation  of  his  immediate 
superiors,  and  this  he  had  without  stint ;  besides,  his 


UNDER-CURRENTS  4I 

whole  line  of  thought  had  become  too  military  for  any 
subversion  of  rule  and  discipline  to  seem  desirable. 

Yet  the  curb  made  itself  felt  sometimes  ;  never  more 
keenly  than  at  his  grandmother's  scornful  look,  when, 
in  reply  to  her  catechising,  he  named  his  income. 

*'  Only  that !     Bah  !     'Tis  the  pay  of  a  coolie  !  " 

"  'Tis  the  pay  of  my  rank,  anyhow,"  he  replied  sulk- 
ily, **  and  I  cannot  expect  promotion  yet ;  the  rules  —  " 

She  waggled  her  be-veiled,  be-jewelled  head  cun- 
ningly. "  Rules  !  What  have  rules  to  do  with  favour, 
either  for  men  or  women }  Lo !  thy  grand-uncle,  the 
Nawab,  gave  twice  that  to  a  coachman  who  had  one  eye 
black  and  the  other  blue  because  he  fancied  him  !  So, 
if  thou  art  in  favour,  as  thou  sayest,  ask  for  more.  The 
Huzoors  will  give  it,  sooner  than  lose  thee." 

Roshan  did  not  attempt  explanation  ;  he  simply  evaded 
the  point  by  asserting  that  the  pay  was  sufficient  for  his 
wants.  In  a  way  it  was  an  unfortunate  remark,  since 
it  precipitated  the  lecture  lurking  in  the  old  lady's  mind. 

"And  for  the  wife's  that  is  to  come } "  she  asked,  not 
without  dignity, — the  dignity  of  age  reminding  youth 
that  its  turn  for  duty  has  come.  *'  And  for  the  son's 
that  has  yet  to  be  born  }  Why  are  these  old  arms  still 
empty  of  thy  children,  Roshan  }  " 

He  had  his  answer  ready ;  one  that  had  hitherto 
baulked  even  the  matrimonial  desires  of  his  mother, 
who,  having  gone  to  live  with  her  own  people,  was 
backed  up  by  sisters  and  sisters-in-law. 

"Because  the  Most  High  decreed  freedom  for  wife 
and  son." 

It  was  true.  The  wife  found  for  him  as  a  boy  had 
died  in  child-birth. 

But  Mumtaza  had  made  up  her  mind  to  refuse  this 
excuse  any  longer.  Matters  were  getting  desperate. 
Here  was  Roshan  past  thirty,  and  never  a  child's  voice 
to  soothe  the  passion  which  seems  to  come  back,  vicari- 
ously, to  Indian  women  in  their  old  age.  She  had  been 
brooding  over  an  appeal  ever  since  she  had  heard  that, 
after  ten  years'  absence,  the  lad  was  once  more  to  be 


42  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

within  reach  of  her  tongue.  So  she  edged  closer  to 
him,  an  almost  pathetic  authority  in  her  face. 

"  That  is  but  the  skin  of  the  orange,  Roshan ;  I  take 
not  that  as  a  gift !  There  be  more  wives  than  one,  if 
the  one  die,  even  for  the  Htizoors  whom  thou  apest. 
Nay !  Light  of  the  house  I  frown  not,"  she  continued, 
in  sudden  alarm  at  his  look.  "  I  did  but  mean  that  thou 
wert  different  from  thy  fathers.  How  canst  help  it } 
Think  not  the  old  woman  cannot  understand.  Was  I 
not  young  once }  Was  I  not  wedded  with  tears  to  thy 
grandfather }  —  on  whom  be  peace  !  So  I  know  the 
heart  hath  fancies,  and  thine  —  listen  while  I  whisper  it 
—  is  —  is  for  a  wife  like  a  mem  !  Wherefore  not }  Thou 
hast  seen  and  talked  with  them  —  they  have  seemed  bet- 
ter to  thee  than  a  cow  of  a  black  girl !  What  then  } 
Have  not  mems  married  our  people  ere  now }  And  with 
thee,"  —  she  looked  round  quickly,  to  be  certain  of  pri- 
vacy, then  leant  closer  still,  —  "with  thee  it  would  be 
easy  —  for  there  is  thy  cousin." 

"  My  cousin  } "  he  echoed  stupidly. 

"  Yea !  thy  cousin,  when  all  is  said  and  done,"  she 
repeated,  with  faint  scorn.  "  Is  not  the  Miss  at  the 
palace  Anari  Begum's  granddaughter  }  Was  not  Anari 
Begum  thy  grandfather's  sister  ?  If  that  is  not  cousin, 
what  is  it .? " 

He  had  known  these  facts  before,  of  course,  but  they 
had  never  presented  themselves  to  him  in  this  connec- 
tion. Yet  they  came  instantly,  accredited  by  custom. 
His  cousin ;  if  so,  his  wife,  if  he  chose,  almost  by  right. 
And  yet  from  custom  also,  he  —  too  sensible  not  to  have 
gauged  the  vast  difference  between  his  position  as  re- 
gards Englishmen,  and  his  position  as  regarded  their 
wives,  sisters,  mothers — was  conscious  of  distinct  revolt. 
"Thou  shouldst  not  say  such  things,"  he  exclaimed 
almost  angrily  ;  "  the  Wi^^-sahib —  " 

"  y[\&^-sahib  indeed ! "  interrupted  Mumtdza  with  a 
forced  giggle.  "  Who  knows  she  is  that  1  Not  even 
Pidar  Narayan." 

"  Wherefore  }  "  asked  Roshan  coldly.     "  Her  mother 


UNDER-CURRENTS  43 

was  Bonaventura-Jrt'^^'^ ' J  child  and  heir.  That  is  cer- 
tain ;  else  the  Government  would  not  have  continued 
the  grants  given  to  him  by  the  Nawab." 

An  expression  of  infinite  cunning  crossed  the  old 
lady's  face ;  she  tucked  another  budget  of  pan  into  her 
cheek,  preparatory  to  a  lengthy  explanation. 

**  Not  if  it  was  payment  for  evidence  given,  by  which 
Government  could  find  excuse  for  seizing  the  rest,  and 
sending  innocent  people  to  die  in  Calcutta }  Thou 
knowest  the  tale,  Roshan }  How  Pidar  Narayan  said  no 
word  when  everyone  was  searching,  after  Bun-avatar's 
death,  for  Anari  Begum,  who  had  disappeared,  and  how, 
when  the  land  was  being  taken,  he  appeared  with  a 
baby,  a  baptized  baby,  and  swore  it  was  Bun-avatar's 
lawful  heir  —  that  he  himself  had  married  them.  May- 
hap he  did.  But,  look  you,  Anari  was  in  the  palace 
zendna  ere  she  disappeared.  Who  is  to  say  she  is  not 
thy  cousin  twice  over.?  ...  I  say  not  that  she  is,  look 
you,  but  who  can  tell.  Yet  this  is  certain,  Roshan  ;  she 
hath  Anari  Begum's  eyes.  For  I  have  seen  her  ;  but  a 
month  ago  the  Miss  who  reads  brought  her,  not  know- 
ing of  these  tales  ;  for  Pidar  Narayan  keeps  a  silent 
tongue.  Her  name  is  Laila,i  and  thine  Roshan.^  Is 
not  that  a  fate  .'*  and  she  hath  thy  grand-aunt's  eyes  ; 
ay !  and  thy  grandfather's  land  too ;  for  would  it  not 
have  been  Walidad's,  if  Bun-avatar  had  not  ousted  him 
from  the  wazeer-%\\\^  with  singing  birds  }  " 

Roshan  Khan  stood  up  feeling  as  if  he  was  being  suf- 
focated. It  was  ten  years  since  he  had  had  experience 
of  the  fine-drawn  meshes  of  vague,  almost  useless,  con- 
spiracy for  which  Indian  women  have  such  vast  capabil- 
ity ;  it  was  ten  years  since,  with  eyes  open  to  his  own 
advantage,  he  had  cast  in  his  lot  loyally  with  the  Gov- 
ernment he  served.  In  that  time  there  had  not  been 
wanting  —  there  never  is  in  India  —  others,  less  scru- 
pulous, ready  to  trade  on  his  connection  with  a  dis- 
possessed family,  and  his  possible  sense   of  injustice. 

1  Night,  or  darkness.  2  Light,  or  day. 


44  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

He  had  known  how  to  treat  them.  But  this  idea  bit 
shrewdly  at  a  feeling  which  men  of  his  stamp  have 
inevitably  —  the  desire  for  a  wife  more  suitable  to  their 
own  culture  than  they  can  hope  to  find  among  their 
own  people.  He  gave  an  uneasy  laugh.  "These  be 
dreams,  indeed,  grandmother.  To  begin  with,  Pidar 
Narayan  —  " 

*'  Pidar  Narayan  !  Pidar  Narayan  !  "  echoed  the  old 
diplomatist  tartly,  **  Art  turned  Hindoo,  that  thou  dost 
count  Narayan  ^  the  Creator  of  all }  "  Then  she  suddenly 
clapped  her  hands  together  in  absolute  impatience  and 
anger.  "  Yet  is  it  true.  He  is  the  cause  of  all !  But  for 
him  Bun-avatar  would  have  been  as  an  over-fried  fritter,  a 
burst  bladder,  a  drum  on  a  hen's  back  !  But  for  his 
teaching  thee  to  fence  —  " 

A  quick  frown  came  to  her  hearer's  face.  "Teach- 
ing !  Ay  !  but  only  enough  to  make  me  fit  for  his  skill 
to  play  with.  I  know  that  now.  Well  !  let  him  try  it 
again  — "  Roshan's  sudden  fierceness  died  down  to 
sombre  discontent  —  "but  that  is  fool's  talk.  He  is  too 
old.  I  could  not  meet  him  on  equal  terms."  He  drew 
himself  up  proudly  ;  yet  he  felt  a  vague  regret  at  his 
own  acquired  sense  of  fair  play.  Below  it  lay  a  savagery 
that  could  rejoice  in  revenge  at  any  price,  and  Mumtaza 
Mahal,  watching  him,  thought  him  still  more  like  his 
ancestors,  and  nodded  approvingly. 

"Think  of  it,  at  least,  Roshan,"  she  said,  "and  re- 
member that  it  is  not  as  if  the  girl  were  a  real  mem, 
Pidar  Narayan,  for  all  he  is  so  clever,  was  put  to  it  to 
find  a  husband  for  the  mother,  the  baptized  baby  !  He 
took  a  poor  creature  from  Martin's  school  at  Lucknow, 
at  last,  who  could  not  even  speak  English  like  a  Hu- 
zoor — " 

"  Because  he  was  Italian  and  a  Catholic,"  put  in  Ro- 
shan, then  shrugged  his  shoulders  impatiently.  "  But 
thou  canst  not  understand.  'Tis  impossible  !  Dreams, 
grandmother,  dreams  !  " 

1  Nariyan,  in  the  Hindoo  mythology,  is  the  creative  spirit  brooding  oh 
the  waters. 


UNDER-CURRENTS  45 

"  Dreams  come  true  even  when  forgotten,  and  torch- 
bearers  never  see  their  own  way,"  retorted  the  old 
lady,  ending  the  discussion  with  proverbial  wisdom  as  a 
clincher.  "  So  think  of  it,  since  thoughts  cost  nothing, 
and  tell  no  tales." 

Roshan  felt  as  if  they  did  the  former  at  any  rate,  as 
he  strode  back  toward  the  fort,  telling  himself  he  would 
feel  better  when  he  had  on  his  uniform  once  more. 
This  was  his  metier^  not  marriage.  The  best  soldiers, 
the  really  great  soldiers  —  he  paused,  the  knowledge 
that  he  could  never  rise  to  real  greatness  coming  to 
make  him  clinch  his  right  hand  as  if  on  his  sword-hilt. 
The  tempest  of  revolt  which  swept  through  him  left 
him  dazed,  for  he  had  reasoned  the  matter  out  with 
himself  thoroughly,  and  thought  he  had  accepted  the 
situation,  thought  that  he  had  realized  that  his  dignity 
in  the  regiment  under  the  present  system  went  side  by 
side,  and  not  behind,  that  of  the  English  officers.  Yet 
here  he  was  at  the  mercy  of  something  too  strong  for 
acquired  wisdom.  He  walked  on  faster  to  escape  into 
a  more  wholesome  environment,  and  by  sheer  force  of 
will  succeeded  in  driving  away  all  thought  of  the  past 
interview  save  a  triviality.  That  was  the  remembrance 
that  her  name  was  Laila,  his  Roshan.  Light  and  Dark- 
ness, Day  and  Night.     A  fate  indeed. 

As  he  passed  into  the  courtyard,  however,  on  his  way 
to  the  door  in  the  river  bastion,  a  group  in  its  centre, 
round  the  old  gun,  brought  his  attention  back  to  real- 
ities, and  he  went  towards  it,  his  slipper-shod  feet 
making  no  martial  clank,  this  time,  on  the  union-jack  of 
raised  paths.  The  group  consisted  of  half  a  dozen  or 
so  of  men  listening  to  something  which  was  being  de- 
claimed, with  much  gesticulation,  by  an  ash-smeared 
jogi^  whose  wide-pierced  ears,  distended  by  conch-shell 
rings,  and  transverse  bar  of  white  on  his  forehead, 
showed  him  to  belong  to  the  sect  which  claims  to  have 
transcendental  powers. 

Apparently  he  had  been  making  the  claim,  for  a  young 
man,  whose  costume  smacked  of  Western  culture,  and 


46  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

whose  face  was  acute,  litigious,  interrupted  him  im- 
patiently. 

*^  Yea,  yea  ;  possibly  thou  couldst  come  over  the  ob- 
struction, Gorakh-nath-^V^;  but  the  question  is  whether 
the  obstruction  be  legal.     Is  it  not  so,  Lala  Ramanund  } " 

Lala  Ramanund,  whose  dress  was  even  more  West- 
ern, and  who  had  a  certain  air  of  distinction,  due, 
evidently,  to  position,  assented ;  adding,  as  a  rider,  and 
with  some  contempt,  that  at  present  they  had  only  jogi 
Gorakh-nath's  word  that  any  interference  was  intended. 

Gorakh-nith,  a  tall,  muscular  man,  naked  save  for  his 
grass-rope  girdle,  his  wild  hair  twined  and  twisted  to  a 
tiara,  his  wild,  half-insane  eyes  telling  of  drugs,  shot  a 
glance  of  absolute  defiance  at  Ramanund.  "  Thy  name, 
pundit-jee,  is  not  likely  to  give  friendly  witness  to  mine," 
he  began,  alluding  to  the  fact  that  they  were  respect- 
ively called  after  the  founders  of  their  absolutely  an- 
tagonistic sects,  *'  and  yet  methinks  thou  couldst, 
seeing — " 

Here  Dya  Ram,  the  first  speaker,  alarmed  in  his 
lawyer's  soul  at  the  militant  tone  of  the  jogi,  suggested 
hastily  that  they  might  inquire,  say  at  the  gate  ;  or  stay  ! 
there  was  the  risaldar  coming ;  he  must  know. 

Once  more,  as  he  listened  to  the  question  put  to  him, 
the  expression  of  his  race  and  creed  came  to  Roshan's 
face,  hiding  its  culture. 

"  Of  a  certainty ! "  he  replied  haughtily.  **  The  gun 
belongs  to  the  Fort.  It  is  not  to  be  used  as  a  shelter  for 
—  for  saints  !  "     His  contempt  was  palpable. 

*'  I  deny  your  premise,"  put  in  Dya  Ram  eagerly. 
"The  gun  is  the  people's  by  prescriptive  right.  I  can 
use  it  if  I  choose.  The  Government  professes  neutrality  ; 
therefore,  no  one  has  a  right  to  interfere  with  my  reli- 
gion." 

Roshan's  face  was  a  study.  *'  Lo  !  Dya  Ram,  for  thou 
art  my  old  class-fellow  surely,  hast  gone  back  to  the  old 
beliefs  since  the  days  when  thou  didst  sign  thyself  at 
the  end  of  thy  essays,  and  in  thy  books,  *Dya  Ram, 
Agnostic '  ? " 


UNDER'CURRENTS 


47 


Dya  Ram  gave  an  uneasy  cough.  "  It  is  a  question 
of  legality — "  he  began, 

"  And  of  money  also,"  put  in  a  new  voice  cringingly. 
**The  pilgrims  come  hither  to  see  the  saint,  and  then 
bathe.  But  if  there  is  no  saint,  many  will  not  come,  and 
I,  who  have  my  right  on  the  steps  as  marker  of  the  caste 
marks  —  " 

"  Right !  "  echoed  the  Mahomedan  curtly.  "  Have  a 
care,  caste-marker,  lest  we  do  not  claim  the  courtyard 
also." 

Here  Ramanund,  who  had  hitherto  Hstened  indiffer- 
ently, took  up  the  cudgels.  "That  can  scarcely  be, 
risaldar-sahiby'  he  said  ;  "  our  pious  folk  have  come 
hither  to  perform  their  offices  since  time  began." 

Gorakh-nath  turned  on  him  at  once.  "  Not  so,  Vaish- 
nava  !  "  he  said.  "Thou  and  thine  know  naught  of  the 
Beginning  of  Things.  Come  to  us  and  Holy  Shiv^/V^ 
for  that !  Thou  art  as  far  from  the  great  wisdom  as  he  " 
—  here  he  pointed  wildly  to  Roshan  —  "  yea  !  further, 
despite  thy  pretence  of  purity  !  Despite  thy  hunger 
yesterday  when,  returning  to  thy  lost  faith,  thou  didst 
come  here  to  eat  as  the  twice-born  should,  and  a  shadow 
fell  upon  thy  food  !  Despite  thy  deafness  to  this  world 
just  now,"  —  here  he  laughed  jeeringly,  —  "which  kept 
thee  back  from  bearing  witness  to  my  truth,  to  the 
truth  of  ^Vw-jee's  servant ! " 

Dya  Ram  looked  at  him,  then  at  Ramanund  perplex- 
edly. "  What  means  he  .'' "  he  said  aside.  "  Didst  thou 
really  come  hither  } " 

"My  wife  was  dying,"  replied  Ramanund  in  a  low, 
rapid  undertone,  "and  I — you  understand  —  there  — 
there  is  nothing  certain,  you  see  —  and  any  chance  — 
one  goes  back  at  such  times — "  he  broke  off  almost  des- 
perately in  his  confession. 

Dya  Ram,  who  had  signed  himself  Agnostic,  nodded. 
He  understood  what  it  was  to  be  rudderless  in  a  familiar 
current,  and  came  to  the  rescue  of  his  friend's  consistency 
by  asserting  that  any  such  decision  regarding  the  gun, 
if  one  had  been  made,  would  certainly  be  disputed.     That 


48  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

he  and  his — though  they  demurred  to  its  being  counted 
against  them  for  faith  in  the  worshipping  of  mere  matter 
— would,  if  necessary,  carry  the  case  to  the  High  Court. 

'*  Carry  it  to  the  Court  of  thy  god  Indra,  if  need  be, 
Dya  Ram,"  retorted  Roshan,  and  as  he  strode  off  he 
spat  deUberately  in  the  dust.  That  also  surprised  him 
faintly,  for  he  had  thought  he  had  learnt  tolerance  of  the 
Huzoors.  So,  with  a  frown  and  yet  with  relief,  he  put 
his  hand  on  the  latch  which  would  open  the  way  back  to 
a  less  disturbing  environment.  As  he  did  so,  another 
hand  was  on  it  also.  The  door  opened  from  within,  and 
Father  Ninian  stood  on  the  threshold  barring  it ;  but 
barring  it  with  smiles. 

**  Ah  !  my  pupil,"  he  said  in  English.  "  I  have  been 
listening  to  your  praises  from  Captain  Bering,  and  from 
Mr.  Carlyon  too.  He  says  you  are  the  best  fencer  in 
the  army.  You  and  I  must  cross  foils  again  sometime, 
eh,  my  pupil  .^" 

Roshan,  as  he  stepped  aside  elaborately  to  let  the  old 
man  pass,  drew  himself  up  and  saluted. 

"  If  you  please,  sir  ;  but  I  have  learnt  new  things  since 
—  since  those  days." 

His  tone  made  Father  Ninian  pause  to  look  at  him 
for  an  instant ;  then  he  replied,  "And  I  have  not  for- 
gotten the  old  ;  that  makes  us  equal." 

Roshan  gave  a  little  hard  laugh  as  he  went  in ;  if  the 
old  man  liked  to  think  so,  let  him. 

But  Father  Ninian's  face  as  he  passed  —  a  black 
shadow  in  the  sunshine  —  across  the  level  steps  leading 
down  to  the  river  wore  a  wistful  smile.  Old  and  new, 
he  thought.  New  and  old.  Senseless,  useless  words, 
fit  only  for  humanity  to  juggle  dreams  from,  since  no 
man  knew  the  unseen  beginning,  knew  the  unseen  end  ; 
knew  even  his  own  birth  and  death.  In  the  endless 
band  of  life,  naught  came  first,  naught  last,  and  the 
things  of  to-day  might  be  old,  the  things  of  yesterday 
might  be  new. 

"  Margherita  !  " 

The  name  came  soundless  to  the  priest's  lips,  and  a 


UNDER-CURRENTS  49 

quick  flush  of  youth,  and  hope,  and  joy  seemed  to 
smooth  away  the  wrinkles  of  his  face.  A  faint  laugh, 
a  happy  laugh,  went  further  towards  a  hearing  than  the 
name.  It  was  sixty  years  ago,  nearly,  since  he  had 
left  her.  An  old  story  indeed,  and  yet  how  new.  The 
new  wine  of  it  ran  in  his  old  veins,  thrilled  to  his  old 
brain,  and  took  him  back  absolutely  to  a  palazzo  on  the 
outskirts  of  Rome,  with  the  pale  flood  of  the  Tiber  flow- 
ing beneath  a  marble  loggia.  He  had  never  looked  on 
running  water  since  without  remembrance,  and  now  — 
his  feet  having  led  him  unconsciously  to  the  river's 
edge  —  he  stood  smiling  at  the  pale  flood  of  the  Hari. 
For  he  knew  that  he  had  fought  a  good  fight,  that 
he  had  kept  the  promise  he  had  made  in  order  to  still 
her  soul ;  that  he  had  kept  her  boy,  Pietro  Bonaventura, 
so  far  as  he  could,  from  harm,  and  his  child,  and  his 
child's  child,  gathering  them  as  lambs  into  the  arms  of 
Holy  Church, 

.  And  then  something  in  the  last  thought  drove  the 
tender  human  smile  from  his  face.  He  murmured  a 
"  Mea  culpay  mea  maxima  culpa^'  bent  to  the  stream, 
and  dipping  his  fingers  in  it,  crossed  himself. 

"May  Shiv^V^'j  blessing  go  with  his  holy  water, 
Baba-jee,''  said  a  voice  behind  him.  It  was  Gorakh-ndth 
the  jogiy  who,  his  sympathizers  having  departed,  had 
come  to  fill  his  gourd. 

Father  Ninian  turned  ;  so  for  a  space  they  stood  face 
to  face;  representatives  of  the  two  great  supernaturalisms 
of  the  world  ;  the  one  which  has  held  the  West,  the  one 
which  has  held  the  East. 

The  old  man's  face,  at  first,  returned  to  kindly  human 
tolerance ;  for  his  fifty  years  of  Eshwara  had  widened 
his  sympathies.  But,  as  he  stood  before  \.\iQ:  jogi  it 
hardened,  and  the  priestly  arrogance  of  the  naked  ash- 
smeared  figure,  stretching  a  right  hand  in  claim  over 
the  sanctifying  power  of  the  river,  was  reflected  in 
Father  Ninian's  as  he  spread  his  left  hand  upwards, 
and  turned  on  his  heel  with  the  words,  "  Vade  retro 
Satanas  !  " 


50  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

CHAPTER   V 

THE    "  DEE-PUK-RAG  " 

"  You  are  tired  to  death  as  it  is  —  why  should  you 
fuss  any  more  over  a  pack  —  " 

*'Ssh!  sir;  don't  talk  rubbish.  I  am  all  right;  and 
Eugene  is  so  anxious  everything  should  be  a  success 
that  I  must.     Besides  I  —  I  like  it." 

Mrs.  Walsall  Smith  sent  the  hostess'  gathering  smile 
round  her  long  luncheon  table,  and  rose.  So  did  Vin- 
cent Bering,  who  had  sat  at  her  right  hand  —  a  position 
due  to  his  rank  as  commandant  of  Eshwara  —  and,  as 
he  did,  he  drew  his  chair  aside  to  let  the  girl  on  his  left 
pass,  with  his  usual  somewhat  voyant  courtesy,  though 
it  was  only  Laila  Bonaventura.  He  had  met  her  several 
times  during  the  past  few  days,  and  the  effect  which 
her  singing  had  made  on  him  had  vanished  before  her 
general  failure  to  interest  him  in  the  least.  And  to-day 
she  actually  wore  a  blue  sash  !  In  addition  she  had 
filled  up  the  time  between  her  monosyllables  in  method- 
ically crumbling  her  bread  and  ranging  the  results  in  a 
pattern,  until  the  inanity  of  it  had  got  on  his  nerves, 
and  he  had  felt  inclined  to  beg  her  to  desist. 

And  yet,  as  in  passing  her  black  eyes  looked  into  his 
with  one  curious  yet  comprehensive  flash,  a  memory  of 
the  extreme  regularity  of  the  curves  and  lines  which  had 
annoyed  him,  made  him  —  quite  irrelevantly  —  wonder 
hastily  if  he  could  have  said  anything  to  Muriel  which  — 

He  broke  off  in  his  own  thought  impatiently,  and 
gave  an  apologetic  glance  after  Mrs.  Walsall  Smith's 
fragile  figure.  There  never  was  anything,  never !  Never 
a  word  said,  never  a  deed  done,  which  all  the  world  — 
even  Eugene  Smith  himself  —  might  not  hear  and 
know.  Vincent  Dering  felt  a  pulse  of  sheer  virtue  as 
he  looked  down  the  long  table  at  his  host,  with  the  vague 
irritation  which  the  possessors  of  women  often  arouse  in 
those  who  are  not  their  possessors.     For  Muriel  Smith's 


THE  " DEE-PUK-RAG"  $1 

half-playful,  half-wistful  rejection  of  sympathy  had  held 
that  faint  hint  of  dutiful  martyrdom  which  seems  so 
purely  angelic  to  selfish  man  —  unless  he  happens  to  be 
the  wretch  who  inflicts  it ! 

Curious,  he  thought  ;  Eugene  wasn't  much  of  a  gentle- 
man, but  he  wasn't  a  bad  sort,  and  he  was  fond  of  his 
wife,  in  a  way.  Yet  he  was  blind  to  the  fact  that  Muriel 
was  not  fit  to  go  trapesing  about  his  blessed  old  canal 
works  with  the  pack  of  padres  and  people  he  had  got 
together  to  do  honour  to  his  skill.  She  would  do  it,  of 
course,  and  get  through  with  it,  too !  Here  he  helped 
himself  to  a  glass  of  sherry,  and  felt  incoherently  that 
she  was  the  dearest  and  best  woman  in  the  world,  — the 
one  woman  in  the  world,  so  far  as  he  was  concerned. 

As  he  sat  between  those  two  empty  chairs  where 
those  two  women,  so  absolutely  unlike,  had  fenced  him 
in  on  either  side,  a  faint  wonder  tinged  his  virtue  in 
comparing  the  last  three  years  with  the  time  before  it. 

If  anyone  had  told  him,  then,  that  he  would  write 
every  day  to  a  woman  and  expect  her  to  write  to  him 
without  a  word  or  a  deed  — 

*'  Please,  Dering-darlin'  "  said  an  imperious  small  voice, 
"  mum  wants  'oo,  'tos  pup'll  go  off,  she  says,  wis'  all  a 
gemplemen,  an'  she  wants  'oo  to  go  off  wis'  a  ladies  ! " 

*' All  right,  little  'un,"  he  laughed  gladly,  finishing  his 
sherry  at  a  gulp,  and,  ere  catching  the  little  mite  in  his 
arms,  giving  himself  that  smartening  pull  together  which 
was  so  characteristic  of  the  man. 

He  looked  very  handsome,  very  happy,  as  he  came  up, 
with  Gladys  shaking  her  curls  at  him  in  outrageous  flir- 
tation. 

"  How  kind  !  "  said  Muriel.  **  I  don't  know  what  I 
should  do  without  you." 

That  was  all ;  but  it  sent  him  off  in  absolute  content 
to  tackle  the  stoutest  lady  in  the  room. 

"  If  you  make  the  move,  Mrs.  Campbell,"  he  said 
diplomatically,  "  everyone  will  follow,  and  I  know  Mrs. 
Smith  is  anxious  we  should  start,  as  it  will  take  some 
time  to  go  round." 


52  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

"  Ay !  that  it  will ! "  assented  the  good  lady  in  a 
mournful  Scotch  accent.  "  'Deed  if  it  were  not  for 
Dr.  James  — "  she  glanced  fearfully  at  a  tall  man  in  a 
black  frock  coat  —  a  man  whose  patriarchal  beard  had 
once  been  red  and  was  now  the  colour  of  a  carpet  whisk 

—  who  was  buttonholing  Father  Ninian ;  the  latter, 
with  his  straight  slenderness,  looking  almost  youthful 
beside  the  other's  burly  bulk. 

"  I  wouldn't  go  if  I  didn't  want  to,"  put  in  a  sharp- 
featured  lady  who  belonged  to  another  black  frock  coat 

—  a  small  one.  "You  spoil  the  doctor,  Mrs.  Campbell. 
As  I  tell  my  husband,  I  yield  to  him  in  spiritual  matters 

—  the  mission,  you  know,  and  all  that  ;  but  when  it 
comes  to  realities  — the  housekeeping,  and  what  we  are 
to  eat,  and  do,  and  that  sort  of  thing  —  that  is  my 
province.** 

Mrs.  Campbell  turned  her  fat  good-natured  face  on 
her  neighbour's  placidly.  "  Ay,  my  dear  ;  but  ye  didn't 
promise  to  be  a  wife  to  Dr.  James,  an'  I  did.  So, 
Captain  Dering,  if   you  can  find  my  niece  — " 

"  Miss  Shepherd  is  quite  safe,  Mrs.  Campbell.  Carlyon's 
looking  after  her,"  interrupted  Vincent,  feeling  another 
spasm  of  sheer  virtue.  He  had  seen  the  two  sitting 
together  at  lunch,  apparently  interested  in  each  other, 
and  he  had  noticed  how  Lance,  on  entering  the  drawing- 
room,  had  made  his  way  straight  to  those  coils  of  red- 
bronze  hair  which  had  a  trick  of  being  the  most 
conspicuous  point  in  any  group  of  which  they  formed 
part.  So  Lance  would  enjoy  himself  simply  ;  he  would 
not  have  to  gain  pleasure  in  complex  fashion  by  dragging 
about  2.  posse  of  uninteresting  old  ladies,  for  the  sake  of 
a  lady  who  was  neither.  Vincent's  face  had  a  bored 
look  as  he  began  his  task  by  piloting  his  charge  into  the 
verandah,  and  so  on  into  the  open. 

It  was  hot  work  crossing  the  stretch  of  sand  which  lay 
between  the  bungalow  and  the  red  brick  abutments  of 
the  canal  head  ;  but  once  there,  with  the  broad  still 
basin  of  the  united  rivers  before  you,  a  cool  breeze  blew 
pleasantly  from  that  blue  barrier  of  hills  with  the  gold- 


THE  "  DEE-PUK-RAG'*  53 

spiked  temples  of  Eshwara  enamelled  against  it,  and  a 
soft  white  mist  hiding  the  feet  of  the  far-distant  snows ; 
so  hiding  the  ''  Cradle  of  the  Gods  "  !  The  floods  had 
gone,  however,  and  so  had  the  robe  of  righteousness. 
The  sandbanks  lay  bare,  of  the  earth,  earthy.  The  logs, 
too,  were  no  longer  dipping  and  dancing  in  the  currents. 
Some  were  piled  criss-cross  on  the  spit,  awaiting  ransom- 
ers,  and  a  few  lay  like  straight  shadows,  half  in,  half  out 
of  the  receding  water. 

"A  log !  not  a  bit  of  it !  "  said  someone,  stooping  for 
a  stone.    "  Look  !  " 

The  missile  fell  far  short  of  the  low  streak  of  sand  and 
shadow,  but  did  its  work.  The  shadow  disappeared,  as 
a  bottle-nosed  alligator  slipped  silently  into  the  stream. 
Most  eyes  watched  it,  but  Lance  Carlyon's  turned  to 
Erda  Shepherd.  He  had  only  met  her  once,  casually, 
when  he  was  out  fishing  on  the  spit,  since  the  day  when 
Father  Ninian  had  introduced  them,  and  they  had  seen 
something  else  in  the  river  that  was  also  not  a  log. 

**  Do  you  remember,"  he  began  impulsively,  "  the  first 
time  we  met }  " 

A  shadow  slipped  into  her  limpid  bronze  eyes  also. 
"  Certainly,"  she  interrupted  coldly.  **  It  is  not  so  very 
long  ago  —  is  it .?  " 

She  had  fenced  with  his  assumption  of  friendliness 
more  than  once  already ;  feeling  vexed  with  herself,  the 
while,  that  she  should  do  so.  Since  what  did  it  matter.? 
However  much  she  might  regret  —  and  she  had  re- 
gretted with  foolish  unseen  blushes  as  she  had  lain 
awake  at  night  wondering  what  had  possessed  her  — 
the  almost  indecent  unveiling  of  realities  in  that  first  five 
minutes,  she  could  not  undo  it.  Besides,  she  had  told 
herself,  he  had  in  all  probability  forgotten  it  in  polo,  and 
partridge-shooting,  fishing,  and  such  things. 

But  he  had  not,  apparently ;  and  he  parried  her  fence 
with  a  still  more  friendly  laugh. 

**  I  didn't  mean  that,  of  course  ;  but  we  won't  talk  of 
it,  if  you'd  rather  not.  It  isn't  a  very  Mark  Tapleyish 
subject,  is  it,  for  an  afternoon  party  .-* " 


54  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

The  blush  was  to  be  seen  this  time.  "  So  I  have 
been  thinking  myself,  Mr.  Carlyon,  ever  since  last 
Wednesday,"  she  began,  still  more  coldly,  "and  I  am 
sorry  —  " 

He  interrupted  her  quite  cavalierly.  "  I  didn't  mean 
that,  either,  and  you  know  I  didn't.  However,  we'll 
leave  it  alone.  So  you're  not  coming  to  the  ball !  Do 
you  know,  I  think  it's  an  awful  pity;  I'm  sure  you'd 
dance  beautifully." 

She  felt  outraged,  in  a  way,  and  yet  she  smiled.  He 
seemed  so  much  younger  than  she  was.  Younger ;  but 
stronger  and  more  vital.  That  calm  assertion,  too, 
that  she  knew  she  was  playing  feminine  tricks  with  him, 
had  been  manly  and  dignified  to  quite  a  crushing  degree. 
She  could  not  help  being  at  once  meek  and  indulgent. 

"  I  don't  dance,  Mr.  Carlyon,"  she  said  quietly ;  add- 
ing, as  a  rider  and  salve  to  her  conscience,  "I  —  I 
think  it  wrong." 

"  I  thought  you  might,"  he  returned,  evidently  pleased 
at  his  own  acumen,  *'  but  I  don't  see  it  that  way.  Of 
course  if  —  if  you  go  in  for  those  ideas,  you  know,  you 
can  make  it  seem  —  well  —  awful  low ;  but  I  —  "  he 
paused  before  even  a  possible  sounding  of  his  own 
trumpet  —  "you  see  I  think  it's  awfully  jolly;  besides, 
it's  such  ripping  good  exercise,  and  I  have  to  be  careful, 
I  tell  you,  not  to  put  on  flesh.  I  ride  thirteen-four,  as 
it  is."     His  face  grew  grave  over  the  confession. 

"  Is  that  much  .? "  she  said,  her  eyes  caught  and  held 
by  the  splendid  figure  beside  her.  "  You  are  very  tall, 
surely."  There  was  almost  a  pride  in  her  tone,  cer- 
tainly a  tenderness. 

He  shook  his  head.  "  Not  so  tall  as  my  people  are 
generally.  We  Carlyons  run  to  size.  My  uncle.  Sir 
Lancelot's,  six-three,  and  his  son  is  six-four ;  but  he's  a 
bit  weedy.  So  when  you're  only  six-one  and  a  half  you 
can't  afford  to  wax  fat ;  you've  got  to  keep  the  body  in 
subjection.  That's  right,  isn't  it.?"  His  pride  in  his 
Scriptural  knowledge  made  it  impossible  for  her  to  be 
stern,  though  she  felt  she  ought  to  be. 


THE  "DEE-PUJC-RAG"  55 

**  Quite  right,  Mr.  Carlyon,"  she  assented,  hurriedly, 
**  but  see !  the  others  have  gone  on,  and  I  don't  want  to 
miss  —  "  She  stumbled,  in  her  haste  to  end  the  tete-a- 
tete,  on  a  loose  brick,  and  for  an  instant  was  over-near 
the  edge  of  the  abutment. 

"  Take  care !  "  he  said,  his  hand  on  hers  to  give  sup- 
port ;  a  cool,  strong  hand,  with  an  insistence  in  its  clasp 
which  seemed  to  single  her  out  from  the  world  to  stand 
so,  hand  fast  in  hand.  "You  were  very  nearly  over 
that  time,"  he  said,  smilingly,  as  he  released  her. 
"Now  let's  come  on,  or,  as  you  say,  we  shall  be  too 
late  for  the  fair.  Smith's  going  to  show  off  his  elec- 
tric light  in  the  tents,  you  know." 

Perhaps  it  was  the  slip  which  had  made  her  dizzy,  but 
she  walked  beside  him  feeling  as  if  she  were  in  a  dream. 
And,  in  truth,  the  scene  which  grew  upon  them  as  they 
went  on  had  a  strange  unearthliness  and  unreality.  She 
paused,  and  gave  a  little  gasp  of  pleasure  and  surprise. 
"  It  seems  impossible !  "  she  said.  "A  week  ago,  when 
I  was  here,  it  was  all  sand,  sand ;  and  now  — " 

Her  eyes  met  the  wide,  flower- set  walks,  the  stately 
white  palaces  of  the  Vice-regal  camp  with  absolute  in- 
credulity. "  Did  you  do  all  this  .?  "  she  asked,  doubtfully. 
"  Why,  you've  made  a  new  world  !  "  She  felt  inwardly 
as  if  he  had,  somehow,  for  her. 

"  Oh  !  Vincent  did  a  lot  of  the  decorations,  you  know. 
He's  that  sort.  We  —  my  fellows,  I  mean,  and  Dillon's 
gaol-birds  —  dug,  and  did  the  dirty  work.  But  it  looks 
all  right,  doesn't  it  ? " 

It  did,  indeed,  —  absolutely  and  entirely  all  right.  So 
white,  so  straight,  so  disciplined  ;  even  to  the  very  twist 
on  the  tent  ropes. 

"That  peg's  out  of  line,"  said  Lance,  pausing  sud- 
denly.    "  Here,  sergeant !  " 

A  following  had  gathered  in  their  rear,  bringing  up 
the  little  procession  of  Englishmen  and  women,  with  a 
knot  of  dark  faces,  and  from  it  a  man  in  dust-coloured 
drill  stepped,  and  saluted. 

"Two  inches,  or,  say,  an  inch  and  a  half."     Erda 


$6  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

caught  SO  much  in  the  order  given  as  she  walked 
on. 

Two  inches^  or,  say,  an  inch  and  a  half !  No  more 
than  that  wrong  in  this  dream  city ;  and  over  yonder  ? 
Her  eyes  travelled  past  the  snowdrift  of  the  camp,  rising 
against  the  blue  background  of  wide  water,  to  Eshwara, 
rising  against  its  background  of  blue  hill. 

"  I  thought  so ;  a  good  inch  and  a  half,"  said  Lance 
exultantly,  coming  up  with  measured  strides.  "  It  makes 
a  lot  of  difference  though." 

She  looked  at  him  critically.  Older  by  some  months 
than  he,  full  of  strong  character,  almost  overfull  of 
strong  convictions,  she  was  yet  —  as  women  must  be 
until  experience  of  work-a-day  life  teaches  them,  as  it 
has  taught  men,  the  value  of  subordination  —  curiously 
undisciplined,  curiously  lawless.  And  this  striving  after 
uniformity  impressed  her. 

"  I  suppose  you  learn  that  sort  of  thing  in  the  army," 
she  said,  with  a  new  respect. 

He  laughed.  "I  should  think  so;  buttons  and  boot- 
laces all  to  pattern.  It's  an  awful  bore,  but  it  keeps  things 
going.    Now,  here  we  are !    Now,  you  can  see  properly." 

They  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  camp,  in  front  of  the 
huge  durbar  tent,  that  wandering  throne  of  an  empire 
fixed  and  immovable  as  the  stars.  In  front  of  them, 
rising  out  of  a  wilderness  of  roses,  blossoming  where 
nothing  but  sand  had  shown  since  the  primeval  sea 
receded  from  the  hills,  was  the  flag  of  that  empire,  its 
folds  drooping  round  the  mast.  And  beyond  it,  past 
the  two  brass  guns  pointing  down  the  long  vista,  was 
an  avenue  of  palms,  bordered  by  green  grass  and  beds 
of  flowers,  and  intersected  by  broad  paths  leading  back 
to  the  soHd  white  squares  of  the  tents.  At  the  farther 
end,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  or  more  from  the  flagstaff,  a 
triumphal  arch  at  the  entrance  showed,  until  the  palm- 
leaves  cut  it  short,  a  legend :  — 

*'  WELCOME  TO  THE  LORD " 

and  above  it,  far  at  the  feet  of  those  distant  snows,  lay 


THE  '' DEE-PUK-RAG''  57 

that  wreath  of  white  mist  hiding  the  "Cradle  of  the 
Gods." 

Erda's  eyes  travelled  to  it,  and  from  it  to  the  other 
vistas,  similar  yet  smaller,  stretching  to  the  right  and 
left  of  her.  Then  to  the  orderly  rows  on  rows  of  tents, 
looking  like  solid  blocks  of  marble  behind  her.  The 
whole  shut  in  from  the  world  by  a  high  white  wall ; 
still,  silent,  empty,  waiting  for  the  Hosts  of  the  Lord. 
A  snow-drift  facing  that  mist-drift  on  the  hills.  And 
between  them  t  Eshwara,  and  all  that  Eshwara  held 
of  evil  and  of  good. 

The  dreaminess  left  her  eyes,  startled  at  a  band  of 
dark  figures  which  at  this  moment  appeared  rounding 
the  corner  of  a  tent  —  figures  in  scanty  striped  cloth- 
ing with  a  broad  arrow  on  it ;  figures  with  shaven,  close- 
capped  heads  and  leg  irons  clanking,  as  their  bare  feet 
threaded  through  the  flowers.  And  behind  them,  half- 
hidden,  as  ever,  under  his  mushroom  of  a  hat,  came 
George  Dillon.  He  had  noticed,  as  he  passed  with  the 
others,  that  the  roses  were  flagging  a  bit  under  the  hot 
sun,  and  had  gone  back  to  summon  a  fatigue  party  of 
his  criminals  to  water  them. 

"  Bring  another  go,  mate,''  he  ordered,  as  the  gang, 
filing  past  the  flagstaff,  emptied  their  earthen  pots ; 
*'  then  go  back  to  the  road.  And  be  quick.  There's  no 
time  to  lose.     The  Y^ox^-sahib  comes  to-morrow."    ' 

They  obeyed  with  grins ;  and  Dr.  Dillon,  as  he  paused 
beside  Lance  and  Erda,  looked  after  them  approvingly. 
*'They  like  this  better  than  picking  oakum,  and  I've  had 
to  set  some  of  'em  to  do  that,  now  the  digging's  done. 
I  shall  be  glad  when  this  show's  over,  and  we  move  on." 

"Move!  where.'*"  asked  Erda. 

"  Where  there  is  work  to  be  done.  Miss  Shepherd. 
Satan  finds  mischief,  you  know,  especially  with  his  own 
hands."  He  paused  and  smiled.  "They're  a  queer  lot. 
Do  you  know  some  of  them  are  in  a  blind  funk  because 
they  think  a  percentage  of  them  have  to  be  sacrificed 
before  the  water  will  run."  He  grew  grave  again. 
" Poor  devils! "  he  added,  in  a  softer  tone —  " as  if  they 


58  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

hadn't  paid  tribute  already.  I  lost  over  a  hundred  last 
year,  what  with  pneumonia  and  malaria,  but  they  don't 
seem  to  count  that  —  that  is  the  will  of  the  gods.  But  I 
say,  hadn't  you  better  be  going  into  the  tent  if  you  want 
to  see  the  light-up  ?  Smith  went  off  to  his  plant  five 
minutes  ago  with  his  gang,  so  it's  about  time." 

It  was  almost  pitch  dark  in  the  huge  tent,  and  as  they 
slipped  in  through  the  closed  portieres,  Vincent  Bering's 
voice  called  to  them. 

"  Be  quick,  please ;  and,  Carlyon,  tell  them  to  shut 
down  the  outer  screens.  We  want  to  have  a  real  flash- 
up,  and  I  believe  we  are  all  here  now." 

Whether  that  was  so  or  not  Erda  could  not  tell.  The 
brief  ray  of  light  caused  by  their  entrance  had  only 
shown  her  Captain  Bering's  figure  beside  his  hostess, 
and  given  her  a  glimpse  of  Laila  Bonaventura's  white 
dress  close  by.  So  it  was  eerie,  in  a  way,  to  wait  in 
the  darkness,  knowing  it  to  be  full  of  people  she  knew ; 
yet  to  have  consciousness  of  nothing  save  their  voices, 
since  age,  sex,  position,  even  race,  were  alike  awaiting 
this  new  light  which  was  to  make  them  manifest.  Per- 
haps the  eeriness  struck  her  companions  also,  for  the 
voices  came  clearly ;  not  in  a  babel,  but  answering  each 
other  in  the  listening,  waiting  silence. 

"  We  are  all  full  of  sparks,  I  assure  you,  Mrs.  Camp- 
bell." 

"  I  am  weel  aware  o'  it,  Boctor  Billon  ;  but  it's  too 
much  like  a  brand  snatched  frae  the  burning  to  my  taste; 
for  Boctor  James  will  have  it  —  " 

"  Undoubtedly,  my  dear  Ann.  It  appears  to  me,  sir, 
and  I  trust  it  will  to  you,  as  a  most  interesting  scien- 
tific fact,  calculated  to  confound  those  who  scoff  at  the 
possibility  of  eternal  punishment  in  a  fire  that  is  not 
quenched  —  " 

'*  Or  to  comfort  those  who  believe  in  a  cleansing 
one  —  who  seek  a  place  in  the  crown  of  stars  about  their 
Mother's  head  —  who  feel  the  flame  of  immortality." 
Its  faint  hesitancy  betrayed  this  voice,  as  the  dryness 
did  the  next. 


THE  "DEE-PUK-RAG''  59 

"If  I've  got  to  generate  my  own  heaven  or  hell,  I 
prefer  to  pass  ;  but  if  one  could  turn  on  a  fifty-candle- 
power  reflecting  lamp  during  2. post  mortem  or  a  bacillus 
hunt,  it  would  be  useful." 

"  Yes  !  Fancy  being  able  to  get  up  at  night  and  see, 
at  once,  in  all  corners  of  the  room  if  there  were  snakes  !  '* 

This  brought  a  laugh  till  a  fragile  voice  said  plain- 
tively, "That's  just  the  worst  of  it.  When  one  begins 
to  see  things  too  clearly,  they  are  so  apt  to  be  nasty." 

"  That,  my  dear  Madam,  has  always  appeared  to  me 
as  an  additional  argument  against  those  who  contend 
that  Perfect  Wisdom  could  not  wisely  have  produced  so 
imperfect  a  being  as  Man." 

"  Surely,  Dr.  Campbell,"  interrupted  a  tart  voice, 
"  the  necessity  for  something  on  which  to  exercise  our 
faith  proves  that ;  but  then  I  am  only  a  woman.  I  con- 
fine myself  to  realities." 

"  Then  what  a  bore  it  would  be  if  there  were  no  de- 
lusions !  By  Jove  !  it  would  be  dull.  Who  is  it  says  the 
soul  of  man  lies  in  his  imagination  }  "  Captain  Bering's 
voice  could  not  be  mistaken. 

"Just  so — and  nowhere  else." 

This  came  in  an  aside,  and  was  followed  in  the  same 
tone  by  the  eager,  hesitating  voice.  "Scoffer!  When 
you  men  of  Science  spend  your  lives  in  listening  —  to 
the  things  which  cannot  be  heard  —  looking  for  the 
things  that  cannot  be  seen —  Ah!  doctor!  —  you 
can't  impose  on  me.  I  know  you  —  I  have  seen 
you." 

The  very  darkness  seemed  abashed,  and  there  was 
silence;  till  a  new  voice,  young,  full-throated,  broke  it. 
"  But  how  can  you  tell  if  things  are  nasty  till  you  have 
seen  them  }  —  they  may  be  nice.     Ah-h-h  !  " 

It  had  come  like  a  creation,  flooding  all  things  with 
irresistible  light. 

A  sort  of  sigh  made  itself  heard ;  a  sigh  of  vague  re- 
lief. "  By  Jove  !  "  said  Captain  Bering,  "it  will  make  a 
difference  to  the  durbar.  As  a  rule  you  can't  see  the 
diamonds  and  jewels  ;  and  they  are  half  the  show." 


6o  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

Palpably  there  could  be  no  fear  of  that.  To  the  utter- 
most corner  of  the  vast  tent,  the  pattern  of  its  lining  of 
shawls  was  visible ;  each  boss  on  the  parcel-gilt  poles 
glittered  and  shone ;  the  very  legend  round  the  arms  of 
England  above  the  Vice-regal  chair  stood  out  clear  ^^ Dieu 
et  mon  droits  And  the  expression  on  the  two  groups 
of  dark  faces,  the  one  which  had  come  by  invitation  to 
see,  the  other  which  had  crept  in  at  the  further  end, 
could  not  be  mistaken.  In  the  one,  indifference  strug- 
gled with  curiosity ;  in  the  other  assent  was  mingled 
with  awe. 

"What  are  they  saying.!*"  asked  Lance,  who,  having 
come  late,  stood  close  to  the  latter  group.  "  Something 
about  Dee-pttk-rdg.     What's  that .?  " 

Erda  shook  her  head.  ''Father  Ninian  will  know  — 
he  knows  all  these  things  —  that  is  why  they  call  him 
Pidar  Narayan,  and  let  him  do  anything.  Sometimes  I 
wonder  if  it  isn't  the  best  way."  The  last,  spoken  to 
herself,  was  interrupted  by  Father  Ninian's  echo. 

"The  Dee-puk-rdg !  Why,  yes — of  course!"  He 
turned  to  the  dark  faces  in  sheer  delight.  "  Yea ! 
brothers!"  he  said  in  Hindustani,  "ye  are  right!  It 
is  the  Dee-puk-rdg — the  sign  of  kingship.  Have  I  not 
told  ye  always  that  the  Lord  is  with  us  —  and  with  you  } " 
Then  he  turned  back  to  his  other  hearers  :  "  It  means 
the  Song  of  Light  —  a  charm  —  a  spell  which  the  great 
men  of  old  knew.     Is  it  not  so,  Ramanund } " 

A  half-reluctant  voice  from  the  invited  replied,  "The 
ignorant  say  so,  sir." 

A  faintly  sarcastic  smile  came  to  the  fine  old  face. 
"  And  they  believe  its  possession  marks  the  born  ruler 
of  men  —  the  God-sent  guide;  since,  when  it  is  sung, 
the  light  comes  from  the  stars  to  help  the  world  on  its 
way  —  to  dispel  the  darkness  !     Ah-h-h  !  " 

It  had  gone !  and  in  the  black  night  which  settled 
blankly  on  speaker  and  audience,  a  faint,  far  cry  came 
from  outside.  More  than  one  woman's  voice  echoed  it 
with  a  little  startled  gasp  of  suspense. 

"It  is  all  right!"  called  Vincent  Dering,  "the  thing 


THE  "DEE-PUK-RAG"  6 1 

is  always  popping  in  and  out  —  I've  seen  it  at  Euston  — 
it  will  come  back  directly."  And  then,  in  response  to 
something  he  alone  had  heard,  he  whispered,  **  Don't 
be  alarmed ;  Eugene  will  set  it  right  in  a  moment  — 
really  —  " 

As  he  bent  his  head  a  scent  of  violets  —  the  scent  she 
always  used  —  assailed  him;  and  that  half-heard  appeal 
—  "  Oh,  what  is  it,  Vincent  ? "  seemed  still  in  his  ears. 
Even  in  the  darkness  he  knew  she  must  be  close  to  him. 
He  felt  the  soft  ruffle  of  the  lace  about  her  hand  upon 
his  wrist.  It  trembled,  surely.  Did  it }  Or  was  it 
only  his  own  bounding  pulse.  A  sudden  imperious 
desire  to  know  —  to  be  certain  —  swept  through  him. 

Then,  with  a  sort  of  suffocating  rush  to  heart  and 
brain,  came  the  knowledge  that  his  clasp  was  answered 
by  that  small  hand  —  so  small,  so  clinging,  so  trustful  — 
so  dear  —  so  absolutely  dear — so  dear!  —  so  very 
dear ! ! 

As  he  stood  in  the  darkness,  he  knew  that  every 
mooring  was  gone,  knew  that  this  —  this  thing  —  would 
change  —  must  change  —  the  whole  position.  It  was  a 
light,  indeed;  a  light  showing  the  way  —  a  different 
way !  A  sort  of  fierce  exultation  took  possession  of 
him.  He  knew,  now,  that  he  had  been  dreaming  till 
then ;  that  he  had  been  blind. 

**  Ah !  what  a  relief !  That  dreadful  darkness  was 
getting  on  my  nerves,"  said  a  calm  voice  coming  to 
him  from  out  of  the  flood  of  white  light  which  seemed 
to  have  rent  their  hands  asunder. 

Their  hands  .-*  —  when  she  stood  yonder }  He  turned, 
bewildered,  to  find  a  pair  of  grave  black  eyes  fixed  criti- 
cally on  him. 

"I  —  I  —  "  he  began. 

"  It  doesn't  matter,"  said  Laila  Bonaventura,  with 
stolid  indifference.  "  You  thought  it  was  her  hand, 
of  course.     I  quite  understand." 

Did  she  .^     Did  —  could  —  anyone.^  even  he  himself.? 

God!  How  content — how  happy  he  had  been — how 
certain  — 


62  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

"  Dillon  !  Dillon  !  For  God's  sake,  where's  Dillon  ? " 
came  an  excited  voice,  as  Eugene  Smith  burst  into  the 
tent,  bringing  the  afternoon  sunshine  to  war  with  that 
unearthly  light.  *'  Come  along,  man !  There's  been 
an  accident  in  the  workshop !  I  warned  them  not  to 
touch  —  one  —  a  mere  boy  —  did.  Got  startled,  I  sup- 
pose, and  fell  over  —  onto  the  circular  saw  —  it  was 
going.  His  leg  —  I've  tried  a  tourniquet^  but  I  can't 
stop—" 

The  remainder  was  inaudible ;  the  caller  and  the  called, 
followed  by  Vincent,  glad  of  any  interruption  to  the  in- 
tolerableness  of  his  confusion,  were  already  running  as 
for  dear  life  down  the  palm-set  avenue  towards  the  canal 
workshop  outside  the  walls. 

That  it  was  for  death,  however,  not  life.  Dr.  Dillon 
saw  at  a  glance  ;  though,  without  a  pause,  he  knelt  down 
in  the  fateful,  irresistible  tide  of  life  blood  which  was 
ebbing  and  flowing  with  such  awful  insistency,  and  set 
his  teeth  in  fight. 

Yet  once  he  gave  an  upward  glance  to  the  long,  low 
roof  so  full  of  driving  bands  and  wheels  and  levers,  so 
full  of  men's  power,  so  empty  of  men's  passion ;  and 
then  a  straight  one  to  the  circle  of  ignorant,  awe-stricken, 
dark  faces  closing  in  round  him.  And  as  he  did  so,  he 
muttered  to  himself  :  — 

"I  wouldn't  have  had  this  happen  for  a  thousand 
pounds  —  and  a  high-caste  man,  too!" 

Undoubtedly  ;  the  sacred  thread  showed  on  the  shoul- 
der under  the  broad  arrow  —  for  the  twice-born  are 
twice-born  even  in  gaol. 

"  Lay  him  on  Mother  Earth  to  die,  ye  of  his  caste !  '* 
said  a  voice  from  behind.  It  was  Father  Ninian's. 
His  haste  had  driven  the  colour  from  his  face ;  he  stood 
breathless,  yet  calm,  his  right  hand  raised.  In  the  awe- 
stricken  circle  none  stirred ;  there  was  no  sacred  thread 
upon  their  shoulders. 

"Give  me  a  hand,  please.  Dr.  Dillon,"  said  the  old 
man  quietly  ;  "he  will  not  die  easy  there."  So,  between 
them,  they  shifted  the  slight  figure  from  the  wooden 


ALPHA  AND   OMEGA  63 

platform  on  which  it  had  fallen,  to  the  ground  all  sodden 
and  stained  with  that  tide  of  blood.  A  faint  content 
seemed  to  come  to  the  half-conscious  face ;  the  head 
nestled  itself  into  the  soft  earth  as  if  to  rest. 

The  circle  of  dark  and  white  faces  fell  back  alike, 
leaving  the  doctor  and  the  priest  alone  with  death, — 
the  doctor  with  both  hands  detaining  that  ebbing  tide 
of  life,  the  priest  with  the  viaticum  of  another  faith  on 
his  lips  speeding  it  on  its  way. 

"  Lo  !  "  whispered  some  of  the  circle.  "  Hark  to  his 
'  Ram  Ram  ! '     He  knows  —  Pidar  Narayan  knows." 


CHAPTER   VI 

ALPHA   AND    OMEGA 

Am-ma  was  fishing.  Breast  deep  in  the  water,  which 
in  the  early  dawn  stretched  like  a  shining  shield  to  meet 
the  pale  primrose  vestments  of  the  coming  day,  his  bodi- 
less head  and  shoulders  slid  sedately  over  the  surface 
like  some  strange  kind  of  wild-fowl ;  for  his  hands,  clasped 
at  the  back  of  his  curly  frizz  of  hair,  held  the  apex  of  a 
conical,  reed-distended  net,  shaped  like  a  pair  of  wings. 
His  eyes  were  closed,  and,  despite  all  lack  of  visible 
movement,  the  tenseness  of  every  muscle,  the  strained 
look  of  every  curve,  showed  that  he  was  on  the  alert  for 
something ;  that  something,  being  the  first  hint  of  possi- 
ble prey  sent  by  his  hidden  feet  as  they  felt,  like  hands, 
over  the  bottom.  Felt  lightly,  buoyantly,  with  scarce 
more  pressure  than  the  water  itself,  until,  at  the  first 
suspicion  of  a  fish  lying  half-buried  in  the  sand,  they 
would  fling  themselves  air-wards  to  change  places  with 
his  head  ;  and  that,  with  the  net  twirled  dexterously  above 
it,  would  go  down  like  an  extinguisher  over  the  sus- 
picious ridge  or  furrow.  Sometimes  —  most  often,  of 
course,  —  they  proved  to  be  nothing  else;  but  some- 
times, again,  there  would  be  a  pause,  during  which  the 
black  legs  would  remain  uppermost,  and  then,  once  more. 


64  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

the  black  head  would  come  air-wards  with  a  wriggling 
fish,  held,  if  it  happened  to  be  a  small  one,  in  its  white 
teeth.  For  Am-ma  had  not  been  provided  by  nature 
with  a  pouch,  like  the  pelicans  who  were  fishing  hard  by; 
and,  being  absolutely  destitute  of  clothing  and  pockets, 
had  to  sidle  sedately  to  the  bank  with  each  prize  before 
seeking  another,  since  both  hands  and  feet  were  needed 
for  its  capture.  Otherwise,  his  method  of  fishing  was 
little  removed  from  the  birds- — the  net  being  considered 
as  his  beak.  If  anything,  it  was  the  more  primitive  of 
the  two,  since  the  pelicans  fished  in  companies,  drawing 
a  serried  line  round  each  likely  shallow;  whereas  Am-ma 
had  all  the  distrust  of  his  fellow  which  marks  man  in 
his  earliest  development.  For,  even  amongst  his  kind, 
Am-ma  was  held  to  be  barbarian ;  though,  Heaven  knows ! 
the  six  or  seven  millions  of  wild  tribes  and  forest  races 
in  India  which  go  to  make  up  its  two  hundred  and 
eighty,  are  primitive  enough.  Those  six  or  seven  mil- 
lions, frankly,  absolutely  savage,  who,  as  the  census  puts 
it,  are  'not  to  be  specified';  remaining,  as  they  do, 
untouched  by  either  the  civilizations  or  religions  with 
which  they  have  come  in  contact.  Six  or  seven  millions, 
whose  very  superstitions  are  their  own  monopoly  ! 

Some  there  were  among  these  fisher  folk  of  Eshwara 
who,  like  Gu-gu,  were  faintly  leavened  with  latter-day 
learning,  faintly  amenable  to  latter-day  standards ;  but 
Am-ma's  dull  brain  was  satisfied  with  what  it  had  in- 
herited ;  which  included,  amongst  other  things,  sight, 
hearing,  touch,  keen  almost  beyond  belief.  So  he  opened 
his  eyes  at  a  sound  which,  to  an  ordinary  person,  would 
have  been  as  inaudible  as  the  swift  coming  of  sunlight 
in  the  sky ;  and  his  sight  told  him  immediately  what  it 
was  in  detail.  A  canoe  was  coming  down  the  lagoon 
with  two  men  in  it.  Now  there  was  only  one  canoe  in 
Eshwara,  and  that  belonged  to  Pundit  Ramanund.  He 
had  been  over  the  black  water,  and  learnt,  amongst  a 
number  of  other  strange  new  things  which  were  of  no 
use,  how  to  paddle  a  canoe —  his  own  or  another's !  For 
what  good  was  a  canoe  when  you  did  not  know  the  sand- 


ALPHA  AND   OMEGA  6$ 

banks  ?  And  how  could  you  know  the  sand-banks  unless 
you  swam  over  them  and  dived  down  to  them  ?  Then, 
if  you  could  do  that,  what  was  the  good  of  a  canoe  ? 
An  air-bag,  or  even  an  earthern  pot  under  the  pit  of 
your  stomach,  on  which  you  could  lie,  was  sufficient  for 
all  practical  purposes. 

Therefore  one  of  the  men  Am-ma  knew  must  be 
Ramanund;  the  other,  by  his  turban,  was  a  Mahomedan. 
Did  he  know  the  sand-banks  ?  Am-ma  shaded  his  eyes 
with  one  hand,  and  watched  to  see.  Evidently  not ;  the 
canoe  stuck  here,  there,  everywhere,  yet  still  came  on 
slowly.  But  if  the  occupants  wanted — as  everybody 
seemed  to  want  nowadays — to  cross  over  to  the  other 
side  —  that  other  side  where  the  red  brick  headworks  of 
the  canal  showed  like  a  plinth — to  those  strange,  new 
white  tents  where  the  Lord  was  expected  ;  then  they 
would  find  the  navigation  more  intricate. 

Am-ma  being  conservative  inevitably,  smiled  at  the 
certainty,  closed  his  eyes,  and  went  on  fishing  ;  till  he 
opened  them  again  at  a  shout. 

**  Which  way  .'*"  he  echoed,  his  voice  sounding  hollow 
from  its  nearness  to  the  water.  *'  By  the  deep  stream, 
always." 

**And  which  is  that,  fool.?"  came  Keshan's  voice 
angrily. 

"Where  there  is  most  water,"  returned  Am-ma 
calmly.  "  Cease  from  paddling,  and  the  canoe  will  tell 
you  without  fail.  Such  things  know  of  themselves. 
They  are  wise." 

"  But  we  want  to  get  over  to  the  camp  as  quickly  as 
we  can,"  said  Ramanund,  interrupting  an  impatient 
retort  of  Roshan  Khan's,  with  an  aside  to  the  effect 
that  they  had  better  not  alienate  their  only  hope.  The 
river  was  lower  than  he  had  expected,  or  he  would  never 
have  suggested  crossing  in  the  boat,  as  quicker  than  the 
bridge ;  yet  there  was  not  time  to  go  back. 

Am-ma  smiled  cunningly.  ''None  will  get  quicker 
than  he  can,  my  masters ;  that  much  is  certain."  Be- 
ing pleased  with  his  own  wit,  he  laughed,  and  kicking 


6S  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

up  his  heels,  ducked  his  head,  to  come  up  again  a  few 
yards  nearer  in  shallower  water,  where  he  could  stand 
and  salaam. 

*'The  noble  people,"  he  said  gravely,  **must  surely 
follow  the  stream  if  they  go  in  company  ;  but  if  they  will 
quit  comfort,  and  wade,  carrying  their  boat  here  and  there, 
I,  Am -ma,  will  show  them.  But  it  is  annoyance.  With- 
out going  with  the  stream  there  is  always  annoyance." 

*'  It  is  better  than  going  back  or  sticking  still,  any- 
how ! "  remarked  Roshan  Khan  to  his  companion  ;  add- 
ing in  Hindustani  —  "  Then  come  quick  —  there  is  room 
for  thee  and  thy  net,  and  we  will  pay  thee." 

Am-ma  shook  his  head.  *'  There  is  weight  enough  for 
difficulties  without  me,  my  masters ;  and  here  or  there 
is  one  to  a  fisher."  So  saying,  he  closed  his  net  with 
one  dexterous  twist,  slipped  his  arms  through  it  so  that 
it  hung  behind  his  back,  and  struck  across  the  shallows. 

*' Yonder  is  our  aim,"  he  said  briefly,  pointing  to  a 
blue  thread  of  smoke  rising  from  the  water's  edge  a 
good  way  down  stream.  "They  burn  a  dead  man  there 
to-day ;  it  is  ever  a  good  guide  to  the  living." 

"'Twill  be  the  Brahmin  lad  the  Huzoors  killed  by 
mistake  with  their  Dee-puk-rdg.  Didst  hear  the  tale  ?  "\ 
asked  Ramanund.  Why,  he  would  have  been  puzzled  to 
tell,  since  he  had  no  definite  desire  to  foster  ill-feeling 
or  fear ;  but  it  had  been  the  talk  of  the  town  till  those 
small  hours  which  end  gossip,  even  in  India,  and  the 
talk  had  confirmed  the  theory,  which  so  many  of  his 
kind  hold  firmly,  if  vaguely,  that  the  mass  of  the  people 
feel  the  English  rule  to  be  unjust. 

But  Am-ma  was  not  of  the  people.  He  was  of  the 
six  million  and  odd  barbarians.  He  turned,  showing  his 
broad  white  teeth  in  a  grin.  "  Ay  !  'Twas  well  done. 
Now,  as  in  old  days,  folk  will  know  who  is  true  leader." 
There  was  no  doubt,  no  fear  in  his  mind.  Had  not  his 
tribe  always,  of  old,  chosen  as  its  chief  and  God  the 
man  who  could  hold  a  torch  in  each  hand  at  arms* 
length,  one  lighted,  the  other  unlit,  and  bid  the  flame 
pass  from  one  to  the  other  seven  times }     And  as  for  a 


ALPHA   AND    OMEGA  6/ 

man's  life,  was  it  not  always  expedient  that  one  should 
die  for  the  people  upon  occasions  ? 

Ramanund  frowned ;  perhaps  because  Am-ma  con- 
cluded by  ordering  the  crew  out  of  the  boat,  and  the 
water  was  cold.  It  could  scarcely  have  been  anything 
else  which  brought  annoyance,  since  he,  like  most  of  his 
kind,  prided  himself  on  being  truly  a  British  subject. 

So,  paddling  and  pushing,  wading,  and  even  carrying, 
they  crossed  from  shallow  to  shallow,  from  sand-bank  to 
sand-bank,  led  by  Am-ma,  swimming  and  diving  like  a 
duck,  or  walking  on  ahead  unconcernedly,  his  eyes  fixed 
in  keen-sighted  approval  on  that  group  close  to  the 
water's  edge,  towards  which  he  steered. 

Yet  it  was  a  gruesome  group,  in  truth,  which  circled 
round  that  solitary  and  still  more  gruesome  figure  in  the 
centre.  A  figure  squatting  like  the  rest  (since,  when 
wood  is  dear,  funeral  piles  must  be  restricted)  in  full 
view,  yet  mercifully  obscured  for  the  most  part  by  the 
heavy  column  of  smoke  which  rose  straight  to  a  level 
with  the  leaping  flames,  then,  tilting  sideways  before 
the  intermittent  breeze  of  early  dawn,  drifted  westward, 
to  hide  those  white  tents  upon  the  horizon. 

"  Above  or  below,  fool !  "  called  Ramanund,  sharply, 
as  they  neared  the  shore.  "  I  am  no  Dom,  like  thou,  to 
choose  my  way  among  dead  men's  bones." 

The  allusion  to  the  semi-aboriginal  tribe  who  earn 
their  livelihood  by  streaking  the  dead,  brought  a  frown 
this  time  to  Am-ma's  face. 

"  I  am  no  Dom,  either,"  he  retorted,  "and  were  I  one, 
thou  wouldst  be  glad  of  my  guidance  to  the  fire  some 
day,  Pundit;;>^  !  "  Roshan  Khan  listened  with  the  whole- 
hearted contempt  of  his  race  and  creed.  "  Be  quick,  either 
way,"  he  said,  scornfully.     *'  We  have  bare  time,  as  it  is." 

Yet  he,  also,  swerved  from  that  gruesome  group, 
which,  as  the  two  —  dressed  as  Europeans,  save  for 
their  turbans  —  stepped  ashore  and  hurried  off  in  the 
direction  of  the  camp,  stood  up  in  a  linked  semi-circle  to 
salaam,  then  squatted  again  with  a  clank  of  leg  irons. 

Am-ma,  his  task  over,  had  paused  in  the  deeper  water, 


68  THE  HOSTS   OF   THE  LORD 

and  was  once  more  sidling  sedately.  The  sun  had  risen 
with  the  inconceivable  swiftness  with  which  it  rises  from 
a  dead-level,  treeless  plain,  and  shone  reddish-yellow, 
like  a  fire,  on  his  wet  skin.  The  shadow  of  that  dense 
column  of  smoke  sidled  sedately  on  the  water  also,  shift- 
ing with  the  shifting  spirals  of  the  reality. 

"  Had  he  spilt  blood  t "  asked  Am-ma,  suddenly,  as 
that  something,  half-hidden  in  the  smoke,  seemed  to  dis- 
solve, sending  a  great  fountain  of  sparks,  bright  even  in 
the  sunlight,  up  into  the  air. 

One  in  the  semicircle  clucked  denial, 

"A  jogi — they  say  of  Gorakh-nath's  monastery  — 
had  him  for  disciple.  And  there  was  dhatoora  in  the 
sweetmeats,  for  sure.  Whether  he  was  strangler,  God 
knows  !  Perhaps.  Yet  such  travellers  deserved  poison  ; 
who  but  a  fool  trusts  a  strange  hand } " 

A  big  man  at  the  end  of  the  semicircle,  who  had  a 
sinister  face  despite  his  good  conduct  badge,  looked 
round  hastily  to  where,  a  little  distance  off,  the  two  jail- 
warders  in  charge  were  dividing  a  smoke  on  the  sly  with 
swift  mysterious  bubblings  ;  then  lowered  his  voice. 

"Ay!  none  but  fools;  and  he  — "  (a  nod  towards 
that  thing  in  the  centre  which  was  now  dying  down  to 
red  embers  pointed  his  meaning)  "is  the  first ;  not  the 
last.  I,  Gopi,  gosain^  say  so.  Let  fools  wait  and  see. 
Wise  men  will  not." 

There  was  a  clank  of  leg  irons  as  if  some  stirred 
uneasily.  "Thou  canst  talk,"  murmured  a  voice. 
"  When  thy  *  tucket '  (ticket  of  leave)  —  God  knows 
how  got!  —  is  so  nigh." 

Gopi  smiled  comfortably.  "  Ay !  To-morrow,  and 
the  next  day,  and  the  next.  Then,  once  more,  purifica- 
tion in  the  Pool  of  Immortality.  Once  more,  sanctifica- 
tion  at  the  *  Cradle  of  the  Gods.' "  He  cast  his  eyes 
upwards  unctuously,  like  an  Eastern  Chadband,  so 
rehearsing  the  part  of  piety  he  meant  to  play  once  more 
on  his  release. 

Am-ma  nodded  his  bodiless  head  cheerfully.     "  There 

1  Another  kind  of  religious  mendicant. 


THE    WORLD'S  DESIRE  69 

will  be  no  Pool  of  Immortality  for  the  pilgrims  this  year. 
So  Gorakh-nath  says.  The  canal  will  drain  the  spring. 
But  then,  he  is  angry  at  being  turned  out  of  his  gun. 
The  people  will  not  give  so  much  — that  is  it !  " 

The  gosains  face  lowered  at  the  news.  "  Turned  out  t 
Who  hath  done  it }  " 

Am-ma's  eyes  were  closed,  for  his  feet  had  found  likely 
ground ;  he  paused  a  second,  tensely  alert  — 

**He  who  comes,"  he  said,  suddenly;  "the  Master." 

As  he  spoke,  the  quick  thud,  followed  by  a  lingering 
reverberation  of  the  first  saluting  gun,  told  that  the 
Viceroy  of  India  was  entering  his  camp. 

*'  The  Lord  hath  come !  "  said  the  circle  of  prisoners, 
in  awed  tones. 

All  save  Gopi,  \}i\Q  gosain.  He  sneered.  "The  Lord- 
sahib.     Ay  !  he  may  be  that  —  but  the  Master^ — no  !  " 

Am-ma  gave  a  contented  little  chuckle. 

"  He  killed  thaty  anyhow,"  he  said  nodding  again, 
"  and  he  hath  the  Dee-puk-rdg.  Is  not  that  enough  for 
poor  folk  }  "  Then  his  feet,  feeling  something  far  out 
of  sight  in  the  still  deep  waters,  came  air-wards,  and  his 
head  went  down. 

When  it  came  up  again,  the  gang  of  prisoners  were 
being  filed  back  to  gaol,  leaving  the  still  glowing  embers 
of  what  had  been  a  man  to  send  a  clear  blue  smoke  into 
the  clear  blue  sky. 

"  They  have  the  Dee-pnk-rdg  —  that  is  enough," 
murmured  the  fisher  to  himself  as  he  sHd  with  the 
stream. 

CHAPTER  VII 

THE   world's    desire 

The  Viceroy's  camp  was  no  longer  a  city  of  dreams. 

Its  silence  had  gone,  lost  in  that  indefinable  sense  of 
sound  which  seems  to  come  from  the  heart-beats,  even, 
of  unseen  humanity  ;  and  the  whiteness,  the  purity 
of  it,  was  stained   and   smirched   by  the  scarlet -as-sin 


70  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

coatees  of  the  innumerable  orderlies,  who  bustled  about 
from  tent  to  tent,  with  huge  files  of  references,  or 
lingered  at  the  tent  doors  extorting  shoe-money  from 
th^  native  visitors,  who  came  in  shoals  to  plead  for  pat- 
ronage from  one  or  another  of  the  bigwigs  belonging 
to  the  Hosts  of  the  \uOxd.-saJiib.  Groups  of  these 
petitioners,  awaiting  their  turn  for  an  interview,  were 
to  be  seen  at  most  tents ;  but  they  stood  in  crowds 
round  one,  in  which  the  Commissioner  of  the  Division 
was  making  the  final  arrangements  for  the  coming 
durbar'y  in  consultation  with  the  Under  Secretary  to 
Supreme  Government.  It  was  a  difficult  task,  involving 
as  it  did  the  classification  of  the  aristocracy,  plutocracy, 
and  democracy  of  India,  in  one  generally  satisfactory 
Court-guide. 

**It  cann't  be  done  in  this  wurrld,"  remarked  the 
Commissioner,  in  one  of  those  suave,  plastic,  Cork 
brogues  which  might  be  made  of  Cork  butter  from  the 
softness  and  lack  of  friction  they  bring  to  the  English 
language.  "An'  what's  more  the  Archangel  Gabriel 
couldn't  do  it  in  heaven,  though  he'd  have  a  better 
chance  ;  for  the  Cherubim  wouldn't  be  wanting  seats  at 
all !  We  are  bound  to  displease  somebody,  so  let's  cast 
lots  before  the  Lord  ;  it's  Scriptural,  annyhow." 

The  Ui;ider  Secretary  looked  a  trifle  shocked,  being 
unacquainted  with  the  Commissioner's  methods. 

"  But  we  must,  —  "  he  began. 

The  other's  keen  face  looked  up  from  the  lists  for 
a  second.  *' Of  course  we  must — we  govern  India 
practically,  by  cane-bottomed  chairs.  Ye  remember 
old  Gunning.  No  !  —  before  your  time,  I  expect  ! 
Well !  he  kept  two  hundred  miles  of  North-West 
frontier  as  quiet  as  the  grave,  for  five  years,  by  the 
simple  expedient  of  awarding  thirteen  seats  in  his 
divisional  durbar  to  each  of  his  districts,  and  only  taking 
twelve  chairs  with  him  into  camp.  The  mdliks,  you 
see,  never  could  tell  which  would  be  chosen  odd  man 
out,  an'  the  fear  of  it  kept  'em  Hke  sucking  doves." 

*'  Indeed  !  "  remarked  the  Under  Secretary,  fidgeting 


THE    WORLD'S  DESIRE  7 1 

with  his  lists  resignedly,  for  he  was  under  the  impres- 
sion that  time  was  being  lost.  **  I'm  afraid  that  sort  of 
thing  wouldn't  answer  nowadays."  The  elder  man 
looked  at  him  gravely;  just  one  short  glance,  as  he 
dipped  his  pen  in  the  ink  and  went  on  writing,  revising, 
referring. 

**  Not  a  bit  of  it !  They'd  send  down  to  Whiteway 
Laidlaw's  and  get  Austrian  bent-wood  chairs  by  value 
payable  parcel  post  !  The  Teuton,  sir,  is  ruinin'  British 
prestige  by  cheapenin'  the  seats  of  the  mighty.  There ! 
that's  done  —  block  A's  beautiful  entirely.  Now  for 
block  B.  Who's  your  favourite,  and  why  are  you  backing 
him } " 

Once  more  the  junior  appeared  a  trifle  shocked. 
"With  reference  to  Roshan  Khan,"  he  began.  ''His 
Excellency  desired  me  to  ask  whether  it  might  not  be 
possible  to  give  him  a  step  for  being,  as  it  were,  in  his 
own  division.     He  belongs  to  Eshwara,  I  believe." 

"The  very  reason  why  he  cann't  get  an  inch  more 
than  his  due.  But  you  can  tell  H.  E.  that  I've  settled 
it.  I've  asked  Bering  to  put  him  on  duty,  an*  when  he 
is  in  uniform  there's  no  mistaking  his  place.  And  then 
we'll  ask  him  in  to  the  reception  afterwards  with  the 
sahib  logue.  Who's  your  next  —  Dya  Ram  !  what,  the 
little  pleader .?  —  Why  the  blazes  should  he  come  to 
durbar  f  —  attorneys  don't  go  to  St.  James." 

"  Mr.  Cox,  the  member  of  parliament  —  perhaps  you 
may  remember  him  —  " 

"  A  little  red-haired  fellow,  was  he  .<*  who  wrote  a 
book  about  India  on  the  back  of  his  two-monthly  return 
ticket }  " 

"  Mr.  Cox  is  a  man  of  great  influence  with  his  party, 
and  he  supports  Dya  Ram's  —  " 

"Pestilential  little  fool,"  interrupted  the  Commis- 
sioner impartially,  impersonally.  "  It  wouldn't  be  bad, 
though  —  stop  his  scurrilous  tongue  for  a  bit.  Favour 
does,  you  know.  But  I  cann't  see  my  way  to  it.  Old 
Hodinuggur  would  be  refusing  his  ^ atta  and  pdn  ^  again, 

1  The  ceremonial  hospitality  offered  at  levees. 


72  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

He  did  it  once,  ye  know,  when  some  low-caste  fellow  was 
within  sight  of  him.  Said  he  didn't  eat  with  sweepers  ; 
and  if  Crawford  —  he  was  Commissioner  at  the  time  —  " 

"  Yes  !  "  said  the  Under  Secretary,  still  more  resign- 
edly. He  had  not  yet  grasped  the  fact  that  his  coad- 
jutor talked  while  he  worked  — 

''Hadn't  been  six  foot  four  and  broad  in  proportion," 
went  on  his  tormentor  imperturbably,  "so  that  the  — 
let  us  call  them  the  subsequent  negotiations — diplomatic 
negotiations — it  sounds  well !  —  didn't  reach  the  eye  of 
His  Honour  the  Lieutenant-Governor,  the  Thakoor  — 
one  of  our  best  men  let  me  tell  you  —  would  have  got 
into  trouble  —  more'd  have  been  the  pity." 

**  Yes,"  assented  the  man  of  Secretariats,  "  but  about 
DyaRam  — " 

"  Dya  Ram,  is  it  now }  Could  we  put  him  in  under 
the  head  '  benevolence '  think  you  }  Did  he  ever  vac- 
cinate a  baby,  or  breed  a  horse,  or  give  anything  to 
a  female  hospital }  No !  Then  the  devil  fly  off  with 
him  for  complicating  the  problem  of  British  rule  in 
India.  Why  should  he  want  to  come  to  durbar  at  all } 
When  people  change  their  dress  they  should  change 
their  desires,  but  the  only  effect  our  civilization  has  upon 
some  men  I  know,  is  to  make  them  want  to  keep  their  hat 
and  their  boots  on  at  the  same  time  !  Well,  that's  done  \ 
I've  found  a  place  for  him  where  Hodinuggur  can't  see 
the  tail  end  of  him  unless  he  squints.  Now  —  who's 
your  next .? " 

While  this  sort  of  thing  was  going  on  inside  the  tent, 
Dya  Ram  and  the  Thakoor  of  Hodinuggur  were  in  full 
view  of  each  other,  outside  it.  The  iformer,  having 
scorned  the  sinful  scarlet  coatees  even  to  the  point  of 
refusing  to  have  his  patent  leather  shoes  dusted,  was 
walking  up  and  down  in  English  fashion.  The  latter,  in 
a  wonderful  parcel-gilt  coach,  was  awaiting  the  effect  of 
his  ten-rupee  tip  with  perfect  patience  and  serenity; 
while  his  retinue,  which  consisted  of  a  dozen  ragged 
retainers  carrying  lances  festooned  with  tinsel  and  yaks' 
tails,  stared  contemptuously  at  the  two  sentries  pacing 


THE   WORLD'S  DESIRE  73 

Up  and  down  below  the  flagstaff  ;  who  — to  tell  truth  — 
seemed  so  monotonously  part  of  the  general  show  as  to 
suggest  that  they  also  were  under  the  charge  of  the  two 
yellow-legged  policemen  who  stood  on  either  side  of  the 
rose-bed. 

It  was  high  noon,  and  the  various  departmental  gongs 
had  begun  to  give  their  version  of  the  meridian,  with 
that  unbiased  disregard  for  that  of  their  neighbours 
which  makes  the  time  of  day  an  absolute  uncertainty  in 
a  big  camp.  But  it  was  calling  time  evidently ;  for  two 
superb  red-coats,  blazoned  with  gold,  appeared  in 
company  with  two  big  books  and  a  silver  inkstand,  and 
disappeared  with  them  into  the  durbar  tQnt.  And  shortly 
afterwards  an  aide-de-camp  sloped  over  to  it,  yawning. 

Both  Dya  Ram  and  the  Thakoor  knew  that  this 
meant  preparation  for  those,  who,  having  the  entree  to 
the  Government  House,  had  the  right  to  put  down  their 
names  in  those  big  boobs ;  but  the  fact  itself  affected 
their  two  types  very  differently.  The  old  Rajput's  visit 
of  ceremony  was  of  another  sort.  He,  obeying  definite 
orders,  would  come  at  a  specified  time,  and  get  his  spe- 
cified salute  with  his  compeers.  But  Dya  Ram  was  like 
the  wild  tribes  in  one  way ;  he  was  unspecified  !  He 
was  neither  fish  nor  fowl,  flesh  nor  good  red  herring. 

So,  as  he  watched  a  young  Englishman  drive  up  in  a 
bamboo  cart,  dash  into  the  tent,  and  dash  out  again  as 
if  the  place  belonged  to  him,  he  felt  aggrieved.  He 
even  went  so  far  as  to  formulate  his  grievance  in  mental 
words,  and  then  these  appeared  to  him  so  apposite  to  a 
leading  article,  that  ho  took  out  a  note-book,  and,  after 
some  corrections,  stored  away,  for  future  use,  the  asser- 
tion, that  *  the  time  will  come  when  the  colour  of  the  hand 
which  holds  the  pen  will  be  no  bar  to  its  writing  its  name 
in  the  Book  of .'' '  He  did  not  feel  sure  of  the  qualita- 
tive noun,  and  after  trying  Fate,  Fame,  Life,  and  Lord, 
left  a  blank  instead. 

Meanwhile  carriages  and  dogcarts  all  of  sorts  had  be- 
gun to  drive  up,  their  occupants  disappearing  into  the  tent 
for  a  second  or  two,  then  coming  out  with  the  smile  of 


74  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

the  elect  on  their  faces.  Father  Ninian  was  one  of  the 
first,  resplendent  in  a  new  soutane  and  sash,  with  Ak- 
bar  Khan  in  his  orderly's  get-up,  oscillating  between  a 
palsy  of  delighted  servility,  and  a  catalepsy  of  dignity ; 
the  one  for  his  superiors,  the  other  for  his  equals. 

And,  after  a  while,  in  one  of  those  mysteriously  non- 
descript four-wheeled  vehicles  that  defy  classification, 
but  may  be  said  to  come  under  the  head  " phitton " 
(phaeton)  of  which  mission  people  seem  to  have  a 
monopoly,  came  good  Mrs.  Campbell  and  her  niece, 
Erda  Shepherd ;  the  former  full  of  indignant,  yet  meek 
alarm,  because  Dr.  James,  having  come  across  an  old 
friend  further  down  the  avenue,  had  bidden  her  go  on 
and  write  his  name  as  well  as  her  own. 

*'  I  ken  weel  how  it  will  be,"  she  asserted  to  her  niece, 
"  for  I  havena  brought  my  specs,  an'  a  body  cannot  but 
be  nervous  with  a  young  man  in  a  scarlet  coat  glower- 
ing at  them  !  I  shall  put  the  doctor  into  the  wrong 
book ;  for,  you  see,  I  canna  write  the  two  names  ane 
after  the  ither  like  a  marriage  lines ;  for  there  is  one 
big  bookie  for  the  women,  and  one  for  the  men-folk,  like 
a  Puseyite  chapel !  Ay !  an'  for  the  matter  o'  that, 
like  a  divorce  court  —  and  I  sou'd  never  hear  the  last 
o't  if  I  evened  the  doctor  to  myself !  " 

**Let  me  do  all  three.  Auntie,"  said  Erda,  with  a 
laugh,  as  she  got  out  of  the  carriage.  "  Really,  there's 
no  need  for  you  to  come,  —  I'll  be  back  in  a  minute." 

The  blaze  of  sunshine  blinded  her  for  the  darkness  of 
the  tent,  and  she  could  scarely  tell  whose  hand  it  was 
which  stretched  itself  frankly,  eagerly,  for  hers  as  she 
entered.  Yet,  even  through  her  glove  she  knew  the 
touch,  before  Lance  Carlyon's  voice  said  joyfully,  — 

"  Come  to  write  your  name  .<*  I've  just  written  mine. 
Funny  our  hitting  off  the  same  time,  isn't  it .? " 

The  tone  of  his  voice,  joined  to  that  startling  recog- 
nition of  his  touch  —  which  she  could  not  conceal  from 
herself  —  made  her  shrink,  as  if  from  actual  intrusion. 
"  I  have  to  write  my  uncle's  and  aunt's  first,"  she  said 
coldly.     "There  was  no  use  in  us  all  coming  in." 


THE    WORLD'S  DESIRE  75 

She  walked  on  as  she  spoke  to  where  the  two  books  lay 
on  a  sort  of  lectern,  while  the  aide-de-campy  seeing  the 
visitor  was  a  lady,  came  forward  politely  to  assist. 

"  Not  that  book,  Mansfield,"  remarked  Lance,  coolly. 
"Miss  Shepherd  wants  —  Miss  Shepherd,  will  you  allow 
me  to  introduce  Captain  Mansfield  ? —  to  write  her  uncle's 
name  first." 

She  looked  back  at  him  almost  angrily,  full  of  resent- 
ment at  his  persistence  ;  but,  even  in  the  semi-blindness 
which  was  still  hers,  his  face  showed  too  kind  for  that ;  and 
as,  at  that  moment,  another  lady  came  in  with  a  flutter 
of  laces  and  ribbons  to  appropriate  Captain  Mansfield's 
ready  services,  Erda  had  to  allow  Lance  to  find  her  a  pen. 

"  That's  right !  Now  for  the  other  book,"  he  said. 
The  aide-de-camp  had  by  this  time  gone  to  see  the  laces 
and  ribbons  back  to  their  carriage,  so  the  two  were  alone. 

"Your  aunt's  first,  you  know."  There  was  a  suspi- 
cion of  friendly  chaff  in  his  tone,  this  time,  but  it  was 
gone  in  a  minute  as  he  went  on  quickly  —  "Erdmuth  ! 

—  is   that  your  name.?    Why!  —  it  means   earth-mood 

—  or  —  or  world's  desire,  doesn't  it.?" 

She  felt  herself  flush.  "  I  did  not  know  that  you  were 
such  a  German  scholar,"  she  replied,  sarcastically. 
"  Yes  !  my  name  is  Erdmuth  Dorothea.  I  was  called  so 
after  —  after  some  one  you  most  likely  know  nothing 
about,  Countess  Zinzendorf.  She  was  famous  enough, 
though,  — "  she  paused,  feeling  savagely  desirous  of 
snubbing  him  —  "But  I  daresay  you  never  even  hap- 
pened to  hear  of  Jean  Ziska,  Mr.  Carlyon .? " 

He  smiled  suddenly,  broadly.  "Jean  Ziska!"  he 
echoed.     "Rather!    We  had  a  pony  called  Ziska  at  home 

—  a  Hungarian  —  used  to  eat  thistles  like  a  donkey  !  " 
He  stopped  to  laugh,  and  she  was  about  to  turn  and 

rend  him,  when  he  continued,  half  apologetically,  "  Of 
course  I  have  !  —  only  the  name,  you  see,  brought  back 
such  jolly  old  times.  Ziska  was  the  beggar  who  had  his 
skin  made  into  a  drum  when  he  was  dead.  I  don't  ex- 
pect it's  true,  but  it's  a  fine  tale ;  the  drum  ecclesiastic 
with  a  vengeance,  and  no  mistake!" 


^6  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

"  Oh !  but  it  is,"  interrupted  the  girl,  forgetting  her 
annoyance  in  her  eagerness.  "  My  grandfather  —  we  are 
really  Moravians,  you  see,  and  our  name  should  be 
Schaeffer,  —  saw  it  when  he  was  a  child.  He  used  to 
tell  me  that  people  said  if  it  was  beaten,  everybody 
must — " 

But  Lance's  attention  had  wandered.  He  was  look- 
ing at  her  signature  with  a  curious,  almost  wistful  smile. 
"  Erdmuth  !  "  he  repeated  thoughtfully ;  then  turned  to 
her.  *'  I  say !  you  really  ought  to  come  to  the  ball  with 
that  name — do  !" 

He  was  simply,  she  told  herself,  the  most  distractingly 
irrelevant,  yet  at  the  same  time  the  most  appallingly  direct, 
person  she  had  ever  come  across.  *'  Really,  Mr.  Carlyon," 
she  began,  with  such  heat  that  the  aide-de-camp^  return- 
ing, stared ;  until  Lance  coolly  asked  him  if  he  didn't 
think  Miss  Shepherd  very  unkind  not  to  come  to  the 
Bachelor's  Ball }  Whereupon  he,  having  by  this  time 
had  enough  6f  laces  and  ribbons,  and  begun  to  recognize 
a  distinct  charm  in  the  glistening  coils  of  hair,  half-hid- 
den by  a  wide  hat,  promptly  asked  her  for  the  pleasure 
of  a  dance. 

Erda  looked  from  one  to  the  other  aghast,  and  to  her 
own  intense  surprise  fell  back  upon  the  woman's  all-em- 
bracing excuse,  "I — I  really  haven't  a  dress."  It  seemed 
the  simplest  and  easiest. 

"  Oh  !  anything  does  for  a  fancy  ball,"  persisted  Lance, 
argumentatively,  as  he  followed  her  out.  "  A  tailor  in 
the  bazaar  would  run  you  up  a  Greek  dress  in  no  time, 
and  it  would  do  awfully  well.  All  white,  don't  you 
know  — "  his  voice  slackened  and  grew  soft,  as  if  he 
saw  what  he  described,  and  the  sight  made  him  glad  — 
"all  straight  folds  with  a  little  edge  of  red-gold  like — " 
he  paused,  then  went  on  boldly  —  "  like  the  sunshine  on 
your  hair.  And  red-gold  bracelets  high  up  on  your 
arms — and  a  red-gold  apple  in  your  hand — the  World's 
Desire  — "  He  stopped  abruptly,  with  a  quick  catch 
in  his  breath,  startled  at  his  own  words. 

And  she,  too,  held  her  breath  before  the  vision ;  for 


THE    WORLD'S  DESIRE  yy 

she  saw  it  also.  Saw  herself,  as  he  had  described  her, 
and  the  glamour  of  it,  the  desire  of  it,  assailed  her,  body 
and  soul. 

Yet  she  made  a  desperate,  a  passionately  resentful  ef- 
fort to  ignore  them.  "I  didn't  know  you  were  so  well 
up  in  chiffons,  Mr.  Carlyon,"  she  said,  with  a  forced 
laugh.  "  Did  you  ever  think  of  setting  up  a  milliner's 
shop }     One  is  badly  needed  in  Eshwara." 

But  the  glamour  of  it  had  come  to  Lance  Carlyon  like 
a  revelation,  and  the  blood  was  leaping  in  his  veins.  "I 
will,  if  you  —  "  he  began. 

She  scarcely  recognized  his  voice  in  one  way.  In 
another  she  knew  it  must  be  his  ;  for  all  the  vitality  and 
strength,  the  single-mindedness  and  simplicity  which  she 
had  seen  in  him  so  often,  were  crowded  into  it ;  brought 
into  it  by  fancy,  concentrated  by  a  mere  suggestion  — 
of  herself. 

The  magic  of  this  seemed  to  encompass  her;  she 
sought  shelter  from  it  recklessly. 

"  I }  "  she  interrupted.  *'  I  don't  go  in  for  that  sort 
of  thing,  Mr.  Carlyon.  You  seem  to  forget  my  work  — 
work  which  I  value  above — milliners  !  Try  Mrs.  Smith 
—  there  she  is  coming  in  her  victoria ;  she  is  one  of  the 
best-dressed  women  I  ever  saw." 

She  could  not  certainly  have  looked  better  than  she 
did  as,  seeing  Lance  Carlyon,  she  called  to  him  as  her 
carriage  drove  up. 

"  Do  you  know  where  Captain  Dering  is .?  He 
promised  —  " 

Here  Lance,  with  guilty  haste,  interrupted  her.  He 
was  just  about  to  drive  over  and  give  her  a  message. 
Dering  had  had  a  touch  of  fever ;  he  had  been  over 
at  the  palace  arranging  about  the  Chinese  lanterns  for 
the  decorations  till  late  the  evening  before,  and  — 

"  He  might  have  sent  a  little  sooner,"  put  in  Mrs. 
Smith.  "  I  have  been  waiting ;  he  said  he  would  drive 
me  in  his  dogcart."  There  was  no  vexation,  only  an 
almost  pathetic  surprise  in  her  voice ;  and  Lance  looked 
guiltier  still. 


78  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

"I'm  awfully  sorry  —  it's  all  my  fault  —  I  was  late  to 
begin  with,  and  then  —  "  He  glanced  at  Erda  involun- 
tarily, —  compromisingly,  it  seemed  to  her. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  kept  Mr.  Carlyon,"  she  said,  haughtily ; 
**  most  unwillingly,  I  assure  you.  Thanks  so  much,  but 
I  can  get  in  quite  well  by  myself." 

As  she  drove  off,  however,  her  head  was  in  a  whirl ; 
and  as,  when  pausing  to  pick  up  Dr.  Campbell,  the  whole 
panorama  of  the  camp,  the  hills  behind  it,  the  distant 
temples  of  Eshwara,  the  busy  place-seekers  in  the  fore- 
ground, the  scarlet-sin-stains  of  the  chtiprassies'  coats 
against  the  dazzling  whiteness  of  the  tents,  lay  before 
her,  one  of  those  rare,  incomprehensible  moods  came 
upon  her  when  the  soul  retreats  into  its  spiritual  body, 
so  that  the  sight  grows  clear,  the  touch  keen,  and  you 
can  feel  the  round  world  spin  beneath  your  feet,  see 
the  shadow  of  earth  stretching  far  among  the  stars. 

The  World's  Desire  !     What  was  it  ? 

Brought  up  to  believe  that  the  heart  of  man  —  that 
mainspring  of  the  spinning  world  —  was  vile,  she  had 
never  asked  herself  why  this  was  so.  She  had  read  the 
story  of  Adam  and  Eve  with  unquestioning  faith,  yet 
never  sought  to  know  what  had  changed  the  good  to  evil. 

But  now,  as  her  eyes  rested  on  those  far-distant  peaks 
with  that  faint  mist  about  their  feet  hiding  the  **  Cradle 
of  the  Gods,"  and  followed,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  fol- 
low in  the  nearer  hills,  the  climbing  track  worn  by  the 
weariness  of  that  eternal  search  after  righteousness, 
she  asked  herself  what  it  was  which  kept  mankind  so 
long  upon  the  road ;  asked  herself,  for  the  first  time, 
what  that  first  sin  had  been  which  had  lost  Paradise. 

No  lack  of  desire  after  salvation,  surely.  Generation 
on  generation  of  Eastern  pilgrims  had  worn  that  path 
out  of  the  sheer  rock,  had  agonized  after  good,  and  re- 
mained evil.  A  little  shudder  of  memory  ran  through 
her  at  the  thought  —  how  evil !  And  now  the  West, 
with  its  white  tents,  its  white  face,  its  white  creed,  had 
come  to  show  a  newer,  a  better  way. 

Had  it  >     But  what  had  it  done  for  itself  t    She  had 


THE    WORLD'S  DESIRE  yg 

worked  for  two  years  in  London  ere  coming  out  to 
India ;  and  another  shudder  of  memory  swept  over  her 
of  what  she  had  seen  there. 

The  World's  Desire  !  Lance  Carlyon  had  called  her 
that  —  a  woman  with  a  red-gold  apple  in  her  hand. 

The  sound  of  angry  dispute  brought  her  back  to 
realities.  They  were  passing  out  of  the  camp  under 
the  triumphal  arch,  and  one  of  its  sentries  was  bar- 
ring the  entrance  of  an  ash-smeared  figure  which  was 
brandishing  a  stamped  petition  paper,  as  if  it  had  been 
a  card  of  admission,  and  yelling  excitedly  for  "Justice! 
justice ! " 

"  It  is  that  pernicious  fellow,  Gorakh-nath,"  remarked 
Dr.  Campbell,  sententiously.  **  He  wishes,  no  doubt,  to 
appeal  against  Captain  Dering's  order,  of  which  I,  for 
one,  am  heartily  glad.  A  Christian  government  is 
bound  to  refuse  sanction  to  the  practice  of  a  faith 
which,  it  is  impossible  not  to  see,  is  degrading  in  the 
extreme  to  those  who  hold  it." 

Erda's  eyes  were  still  clear;  clear  with  what  those 
who  do  not  see,  call  dreams. 

"Yet  it  seeks  what  we  do  —  peace  —  forgiveness  — 
the  cradle  of  the  goodness,  the  innocence  it  left  behind  — 
somehow." 

Dr.  James  Campbell  turned  to  her  in  dignified, 
amazed  displeasure.     "  May  I  ask  what  has  caused  —  " 

"That's  easy  tellin',"  interrupted  Mrs.  Campbell, 
comfortably.  "  It's  yon  hat  with  feathers,  when  she  is 
accustomed  to  a  pith  one.  An'  she  standin'  in  the  sun 
talkin'  to  Mr.  Carlyon  !  It's  just  got  to  the  lassie's 
head.  I  was  the  same  myself  when  I  was  young,  Erda  ; 
but  Dr.  James  thought  it  a  duty  —  " 

"  And  so  I  do  now,  my  dear,"  put  in  her  husband.  "It 
is  a  distinct  duty  on  the  part  of  mission  workers  to  take 
every  precaution,  and  if  her  head  is  Erda's  weak  point, 
I  shall  warn  David  —  " 

Mrs.  Campbell  nodded  hers  and  smiled,  and  almost 
winked.  "  Oh  !  Davie  will  take  care  of  her,  never  fear ; 
he  is  not  a  ninny ! " 


So  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

Erda  flushed  scarlet  all  over  her  face  and  neck.  It 
seemed  to  her  as  if  she  had  forgotten  her  cousin,  the 
Reverend  David  Campbell,  altogether.  And  yet  she 
was  engaged  to  be  married  to  him  as  soon  as  he  returned 
from  a  well-earned  holiday  in  England. 

A  swift  remorse  left  her  pale  again.  Davie,  who  was 
so  much  in  earnest,  who  looked  to  her  as  —  as  — 

That  vision  of  a  woman  with  a  red-gold  edging  to  her 
white  robe  and  a  red-gold  apple  in  her  hand  came  to 
send  the  blood  to  her  face  once  more. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

FALLING   STARS 

The  long  durbar  tent  was  packed  from  end  to  end 
with  the  cane-bottomed  seats  of  the  mighty  ;  and  in  each 
sat  its  appointed  occupant, — patient,  grave,  silent. 

But  in  the  two  rows  behind  the  Viceroy's  still  empty 
chair  of  state  the  Englishmen  in  political  dress  or  uni- 
form who  sat  in  the  front,  and  the  Englishwomen  in 
the  latest  Paris  fashions  who  sat  behind,  were  talking 
and  laughing ;  in  a  perfectly  well-bred  way,  yet,  to  the 
majority  of  those  silent  spectators,  at  the  expense  of 
decency,  since  a  durbar  is,  like  a  West  Indian  ball,  not 
for  'talkeeJ  There  was,  however,  no  disapproval  on  those 
indifferent  dark  faces.  Such  things  were  part  and  par- 
cel of  that  general  eccentricity  of  the  Hzizoors,  before 
which  it  behoved  calmness  to  remain  calm.  Yet  those 
same  faces  would  have  been  quick  to  notice  and  resent 
the  faintest  breach  of  etiquette  in  regard  to  their  own 
treatment,  or  position.  Those  being  correct,  the  rest 
was  immaterial. 

And  now,  the  sudden  strains  from  without  of  "  God 
Save  the  Queen  "  sent  those  talking,  laughing  rows  to 
their  feet  silently,  with  the  proud  alacrity  so  noticeable 
in  India  when  the  act  is  a  confession  of  faith,  indeed ! 


FALLING  STARS  8 1 

But  the  mass  beyond  followed  suit  obediently,  with  a 
starry  shiver  of  diamond-flash,  a  milky  way  of  pearl- 
shine  ;  for  Eugene  Smith's  electric  light  was  working 
full  power. 

Finally,  as  if  wafted  on  the  full  chords,  came  a  small 
man,  with  that  inevitable  look  of  coming  into  church 
which  Englishmen  consider  dignity ;  possibly  because 
public  worship  is,  really,  the  only  function  in  which  they 
are  not  inwardly  ashamed  of  taking  part.  The  great 
gold  chair,  the  great  gold  footstool,  seemed  all  too  large 
for  everything  about  their  occupant,  save  the  diamond 
star,  the  ribbon  on  his  breast.  Yet,  in  a  way,  the  scene 
gained  by  his  inadequacy  when,  after  a  decent  pause,  a 
decent  silence,  he  rose,  small,  insignificant,  to  give  voice 
to  Empire  —  in  a  strong  Scotch  accent,  it  must  be 
admitted,  which  equalled  the  Commissioner's  Irish  one, 
when,  its  proper  exponent,  the  Secretary,  having  a  cold, 
he  read  a  translation  of  the  Viceroy's  speech,  and  his 
soft  brogue  ran  riot  among  the  clamorous  Persian 
vowels. 

"At  Mdhdrdjdkdn,  rdjdhdn,  nawdbdn  wd sdhibdn  dli- 
shdn:' 

The  diamonds  and  pearls  sat  too  still  for  play,  so  the 
electric  light  contented  itself  with  the  white  teeth  of 
Englishwomen  as  they  yawned.  But  even  these  failed 
it  when,  the  speech  ending,  that  front  row  began  its 
file  past ;  the  civilians  first,  the  soldiers  next.  A  quick 
file,  a  formal  bow  as  a  rule ;  but,  every  now  and  again, 
a  pause  would  come  in  the  monotonous  string  of  names, 
for  a  few  words  from  the  Viceroy,  and  another  bow  ere 
the  recipient  passed  on.  Muriel  Smith,  who  sat  behind 
—  the  best  dressed  woman  there,  as  Erda  Shepherd  had 
judged  her  —  watched  her  husband's  tall  gaunt  figure 
approaching,  and  wondered  if  that  pause  would  come  to 
him.  Her  heart  beat  so  when  it  did  that  she  could 
hear  nothing  except  "graciously  pleased,"  "eminent 
services,"  "distinguished  order";  but  a  whisper  from 
her  neighbor,  "All  right !  C.  S.  I.,  not  C.  I.  E.,"  left  her 
sick  and  faint  with  relief.     Even  so,  her  eyes  instinct- 


S2  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

ively  sought  Vincent  Bering's  sympathy  ;  but  he,  to 
her  surprise,  was  looking  at  the  tall  gaunt  man  whose 
face  was  a  *^ mmc  dirnittis''  in  itself, as  he  made  his  way 
back  to  his  seat,  forgetful  even  of  his  wife. 

But  he  had  forgotten  her,  amid  a  host  of  other  things, 
for  three  whole  years :  forgotten  them  in  a  ceaseless 
effort,  an  untiring  energy.  And  now  that  the  necessity 
for  this  was  over,  sleep  and  rest  were  his  first  thoughts. 
He  took  both,  apparently,  in  his  chair,  while  the  Com- 
missioner, causing  this  time  a  fresh  flashing  of  jewels, 
began  on  a  fresh  string  of  titles. 

**  Sri  rdja-i-rdjdn,  fnrzund-i-khds-munsoor-i-zamdn- 
mdhdrdj-dhirdj-rasdkhr 

And,  as  they  rolled  on,  the  atom  of  humanity  belong- 
ing to  them — someone  in  faded  brocade,  with  ropes  of 
ill-shaped  pearls  and  uncut  stones  wound  about  him,  or 
a  jauntier  figure  fresh  and  glittering  from  a  Calcutta 
jeweller's  shop  —  would  be  singled  out  by  its  political 
in  charge,  like  a  sheep  from  a  flock,  and  guided  dexter- 
ously to  the  exactly  proper  spot  in  the  whole  round 
world  wherein  obeisance  and  offering  could  be  made 
with  dignity  to  itself,  and  the  recipient.  Then  it 
would  be  swept  on,  regardless  of  an  invariable  desire  to 
break  back,  in  an  endless  circle  to  its  seat,  while  fresh 
titles  rolled  out,  and  a  fresh  owner  was  hemmed  in  and 
swept  forward.  For  two  whole  mortal  hours,  this,  and 
nothing  but  this  ;  with,  every  now  and  again,  that  pause 
for  a  few  words,  translated  now  into  Irish-Urdu,  produc- 
ing an  expression  as  of  a  cat  licking  cream,  on  a  face  as 
it  was  was  hustled  back,  blindly  obedient,  as  sheep  are 
with  a  collie  they  know  and  trust. 

So,  at  last,  long  after  everyone,  even  Dya  Ram — who 
looked  terribly  disjointed  between  his  frock  coat,  white 
tie,  grey  trousers,  and  the  gold  mohur  which  he  persisted 
in  holding  after  native  custom  in  his  gloved  right  hand 
—  had  passed,  the  politicals  gathered  in  a  knot,  like 
church-wardens  for  the  offertory  plates,  and  the  distri- 
bution of  atta  and  pdn,  that  sacrament  of  servitude  and 
sovereignty,  began.     It,  too,  was  exactly  like  an  offer- 


FALLING  STARS  83 

tory ;  that  is,  a  languid  passing  round  of  a  plate  by  an 
official,  and  yawns  for  the  rest  of  the  congregation. 

Finally,  with  a  vigour  savouring  —  like  a  voluntary — 
of  relief,  the  band  attacked  "  God  Save  the  Queen  "  once 
more,  the  Viceroy  retired,  the  durbarees  trooped  out,  still 
calm  and  silent,  yet  satisfied,  and  the  Commissioner,  sink- 
ing into  a  vacant  seat,  said  :  — 

"Thank  the  Lord!  That's  over  without  a  hitch.  So 
India's  safe  for  another  six  months  at  the  cost  of  a 
trumpery  title  or  two." 

"  I  don't  see  on  what  ground,"  began  the  Under  Sec- 
retary, laboriously. 

"  Then  ye  don't  read  your  Bible.  Didn't  Adam,  when 
he  was  given  dominion  over  the  lower  animals,  begin  by 
bestowing  names  on  them  .?  Ah  !  my  dear  Mrs.  Smith, 
I  didn't  know  ye  were  so  close.  A  thousand  congratu- 
lations, my  dear  lady." 

*'You  don't  mean  it,  sir,"  she  interrupted,  laughing. 
"  Do  you  think  I  have  forgotten  the  consolatory  verses 
you  wrote  me  last  year  when  Eugene  didnt  get  any- 
thing }    You  are  a  fraud." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it ;  only  an  Irishman,"  put  in  Father 
Ninian,  with  an  almost  tender  smile  for  the  keen, 
whimsical  face  which  had  been  friend  to  him,  and  foe 
to  him,  for  many  a  long  year.  "  Let  us  have  the  verses, 
Mrs.  Smith." 

"  Say  ye  don't  remember  them,  there's  a  kind  soul," 
urged  the  Commissioner,  persuasively. 

"  But  I  do:  — 

"  I  dreamt,  and  lo,  the  stars  fell  from  the  sky 
To  blaze  upon  the  breasts  of  naughty  men ; 
And  as  I  wondered,  came  this  swift  reply :  — 
'  Each  star  is  some  soul's  inmost  aim,  and  when 
The  angels  don't  approve,  it  is  returned 
To  feed  the  base-born  flame  by  which  it  burned. 
The  nice,  they  keep  until  —  life's  struggle  striven  — 
The  owners  find  them  at  the  gates  of  heaven.' " 

**  Striven  —  heaven  !"  groaned  the  Commissioner,  amid 
the  clapping  of  hands.     "  My  dear  madam,  did  I  com- 


84  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

mit  such  a  crime  —  I  mean  rhyme  ?  But  the  poet's  right. 
Ye  can't  go  wide  of  the  mark,  annyhow,  even  in  a  song, 
but  you're  sure  to  find  the  fact  again  in  the  heart  of  a 
friend." 

So,  with  that  curiously  light-hearted,  almost  reckless, 
frivolity  of  Indian  society  —  a  not  unnatural  recoil,  per- 
haps, from  the  perpetual  presence  of  the  greatest  social 
problem  the  world  has  ever  seen,  or  is  likely  to  see, 
that  is,  the  mutual  assimilation  of  East  and  West  with- 
out injury  to  either  —  the  little  company  of  English 
men  and  women,  empire  makers  and  breakers,  drifted 
out  into  the  sunshine,  and  so  on  to  the  Viceroy's  private 
enclosure,  where  the  band,  weary  of  national  anthems, 
was  already  at  work  on  a  selection  of  street  tunes,  be- 
ginning with  "  Tommy,  make  room  for  your  uncle." 

So  the  pageant  of  power  passed  into  a  garden-party, 
and  nothing  remained  to  show  the  hand-grip  which  had 
made  that  garden  out  of  a  wilderness,  to  tell  of  the  tire- 
less effort  to  solve  the  problem,  the  ceaseless  striving 
to  be  just,  which  underlay  all  the  quips  and  cranks,  the 
foibles  and  follies,  of  the  great  camp,  save  the  premature 
baldness  of  a  few  heads,  as  their  owners  fought  desper- 
ately at  badminton  ;  fought  to  prevent  a  child's  shuttle- 
cock from  falling  in  the  wrong  court ! 

A  fight  which  was  watched  with  blank  courtesy,  as  a 
further  exhibition  of  sheer  eccentricity,  by  those  of  the 
jewelled  and  brocaded  owners  of  titles  who  had  the 
entree  to  this  Holy  of  Holies. 

Rosban  Khan,  however, — who  looked  splendid  in  his 
uniform,  —  fought  with  the  best;  and  won,  too,  though 
Laila  Bonaventura,  who  played  on  his  side,  stood  still, 
taking,  it  is  true,  the  shots  which  came  within  reach 
dexterously  enough,  but  never  stirring  an  inch  for  one 
beyond.  And,  as  he  played,  the  curious  chance  which 
had  brought  him  into  her  company  made  his  blood  run 
fast. 

Captain  Bering  had  bidden  him  join  the  set ;  bidden 
him  curtly,  almost  savagely,  as  the  best  player  available, 
in  answer  to  a  challenge  from  Muriel  Smith  to  play  her, 


FALLING  STARS  85 

her  husband,  and  the  Commissioner.  And  this  chal- 
lenge had  come  curtly,  also,  because  Captain  Bering 
was  standing  beside  Laila  Bonaventura,  to  whom  he 
had  been  giving  a  cup  of  coffee.  Not  because  it  gave 
him  pleasure,  but  from  sheer  determination  not  to  let 
his  mistake  in  the  darkness  count  for  anything.  Yet, 
as  the  girl's  hand  took  the  cup  from  his,  he  had  re- 
membered with  a  thrill  the  gladness,  the  content  it  had 
brought  him.  Though  he  refused  to  acknowledge  the 
fact,  the  puzzle  of  this  mistake  had  been  his  chief 
thought  ever  since  it  occurred,  and  a  smouldering  re- 
sentment regarding  his  past  relationship  with  one  who 
was  still  to  him  the  best  and  dearest  of  women  was  the 
result.  He  felt  vaguely  that  she,  as  well  as  he,  ought 
to  have  known  that  their  sentiment,  their  monopoly,  as 
it  were,  of  friendship,  could  only  mean  — what  it  had 
meant  to  him  during  those  few  moments  of  blindness 
which  had,  paradoxically,  opened  his  eyes.  So  he  had 
felt  bitter,  and  she  had  known  it  instinctively.  If  she 
had  ever  faced  facts,  this  alone  might  have  opened  her 
eyes  also ;  but  she  was  too  good  a  woman,  too  help- 
lessly bound  by  her  woman's  cult  of  love,  to  disassociate 
it  from  friendship.  So,  without  bringing  a  doubt  even, 
the  jealous  desire  of  appropriation  which  draws  a  line 
clear  and  clean  as  a  sword-cut  between  the  two,  had 
risen  up  in  her  from  the  absence  of  the  sympathetic 
look  she  had  expected  from  Vincent  Bering.  So  she 
had  challenged  him,  and  so  it  came  to  pass  that  Roshan 
Khan  played  badminton  with  Laila  Bonaventura.  She 
took  no  notice  of  him  beyond  a  casual  inspection  of  his 
uniform  ;  still  the  mere  fact  of  being  her  equal  within  the 
white  lines  which  separated  their  badminton  court  from 
the  realities  of  life  seemed  a  fate.  When  the  game  was 
over,  his  eyes  followed  her  closely,  and  he,  himself,  at 
a  respectful  distance ;  and  as  he  followed  her,  his  desire 
to  speak  to  her  grew  as  he  pondered  on  his  right  to 
do  so.  After  all,  as  his  grandmother  had  said,  she  was 
his  cousin. 

And  fate  was  on  his  side  once  more.     A  well-bred 


S6  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

crowding  round  a  table  where  some  photographs  of  the 
camp  were  being  shown,  brought  him  so  near  her  that 
she  caught  sight  of  his  yellow,  silver-laced  uniform  be- 
hind her,  and  turned  quickly.  Turned  with  a  look  in 
her  big  black  eyes  which  dazzled  him. 

It  vanished,  however,  in  a  second  ;  yet  her  words, 
spoken  with  a  faint  resentment,  made  the  memory  of 
the  look  give  rise  to  a  swift  pulse  of  angry  suspicion. 

"  I  thought  you  were  Captain  Bering,"  she  said. 
"  Why  do  you  wear  the  same  uniform  .<*  I  thought 
natives  couldn't  be  officers." 

The  assumption,  in  his  present  state  of  mind,  made 
all  his  fierce  temper  flash  to  his  face ;  but  ere  he  could 
choose  English  words  to  express  it,  she  laughed,  and, 
after  her  fashion  when  amused,  became  confidential. 
**  You  are  angry  at  being  called  a  native ;  but  you  are 
one,  aren't  you }  Then  it  is  so  foolish.  You  are  like 
my  guardian.  He  can't  bear  the  bazaar  people  to 
call  me  *  Begiim-sahiba ' ;  but  they  do  sometimes,  you 
know,  because  I  own  a  lot  of  their  houses  and  lands, 
and  my  grandmother  was  a  native  princess.  I  know 
that,  though  my  guardian  never  speaks  about  it.  He  is 
ashamed,  I  think — like  you  are.  I'm  not.  I  didn't 
choose  my  grandmother.  Why  should  one  fuss  about 
such  things  }  If  they're  true,  it  can't  be  helped,  and  if 
they're  not,  what  does  \t  matter.-*  Besides,  it  must  be 
rather  nice  to  be  a  real  Begum.  You  haven't  seen  any, 
of  course ;  they  wouldn't  let  you,  would  they  t  That 
must  be  horrid.  How  could  you  like  people  if  you 
didn't  see  them  }  Besides  —  "  she  added,  with  an  access 
of  demure,  pious  conviction,  "it  would  be  wicked  to 
marry  them,  you  know.  You  should  never  marry  any- 
one you  don't  love.     Even  the  Sisters  told  me  that." 

Her  voice  had  deepened,  broadened ;  her  eyes,  occu- 
pied with  his  uniform,  not  his  face,  had  grown  soft. 
Hitherto  he  had  been  too  much  at  a  loss  before  her 
sudden  garrulity  to  interrupt ;  now,  that  vague  sus- 
picion recurred,  making  him  feel  inclined  to  say  brutally, 
**  I  am  your  cousin ;  I  claim  you."     The  very  thought 


PALLING  STARS  8/ 

of  her  outraged  face  attracted  him.  But  English  words 
were  inadequate  for  such  emotions,  so,  as  he  paused, 
she  went  on  :  — 

*' As  you  are  here,  I  suppose  you'll  be  asked  to  the 
ball,  also.  It  is  to  be  in  my  palace,  you  know,  because 
Captain  Bering  thinks  it  the  best  place.  He  says  the 
gardens  will  be  beautiful  all  lit  up  —  "  She  smiled  as 
if  at  some  secret  mystery,  then  continued :  "  Of  course,  I 
don't  know  yet ;  I  haven't  seen  it,  but  I  think  it  will  be 
lovely.  Only  I  wish  my  dress  was  different.  I  am 
Beatrice  —  Dante's  Beatrice  —  and  I  think  it  stupid. 
But  my  guardian  chose  it  because — "  she  smiled  again 
with  the  same  secret  amusement  —  "I  don't  know,  of 
course,  but  I  expect  it  is  because  my  great-grandmother 
went  as  Beatrice  to  some  ball  long  ago.  It  is  generally 
that.  I  think  he  must  have  been  in  love  with  her  — 
isn't  it  funny  } " 

"  Laila,"  came  Father  Ninian's  voice  from  behind,  "  I 
have  been  looking  for  you  everywhere.     It  is  time  to  go." 

His  usually  kind  old  face  was  stern.  He  gave  the 
curtest  of  recognitions  to  Roshan  Khan,  and,  as  he 
carried  his  ward  off,  said  sharply,  "  Who  introduced  you 
to  that  native  t  " 

"  No  one,"  she  replied,  indifferently ;  "  I  thought  he 
was  Captain  Bering ;  their  uniforms  —  "  she  broke  off 
to  add,  with  more  animation,  "  I  do  like  the  gold  and 
silver  lace.  Though  of  course  the  jewels,  like  the 
rajahs  wore,  look  best." 

He  interrupted  her  in  Italian,  giving  a  quick  gesture 
of  dissent.  "  Say  not  so,  cara  mia^  they  would  look  ill 
on  —  on  Englishmen.  And  listen,  child  !  You  should 
not  speak  to  strangers ;  and  I  would  rather  you  did  not 
speak  to  such  natives  at  all.  They  —  cannot  understand 
—  quite  —  for  they  look  on  women  differently  from 
what  we  do." 

Laila's  eyes  narrowed  sullenly.  "Very  well,  guard- 
ian," she  9aid  resignedly,  "only  I  suppose  they  must 
know  what  their  women  are  really  like  —  and  —  perhaps 
the  native  ladies  prefer  it." 


88  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

The  old  man  looked  at  her,  startled,  but  said  nothing. 

When  he  had  gone  to  find  Akbar  Khan  and  the 
carriage,  Vincent  Bering,  seeing  her  alone,  came  up  — 
so,  at  least,  he  told  himself  —  out  of  sheer  politeness,  to 
ask  if  she  wanted  anything.  Yet  something  in  her  face 
sent  him  beyond  mere  courtesy  at  once;  something 
almost  childishly  apparent. 

*'  I'm  afraid  you  haven't  been  enjoying  yourself,"  he 
said  kindly.     *'  Why  not }     I  thought  it  rather  pleasant." 

*' Very  pleasant !  "  she  assented  wearily.  "Only  my 
guardian  has  been  telling  me  not  to  do  things ;  and  I 
don't  know  why,  but  I  always  want  to  do  them  at  once 
—  don't  you.?" 

He  could  not  actually  deny  the  fact.  "Sometimes. 
One  has  to  pretend  —  " 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his  blindingly;  he  caught  a 
glimpse  in  them  of  the  lawless  approval  Roshan  Khan 
had  seen,  yet  of  something  else  —  a  lawless  disdain. 
"Why  must  one.?"  she  asked.  "I  never  mean  to, 
never !  If  I  want  to  do  a  thing  I'll  do  it.  I  don't  mean 
wicked  things,  of  course  — "  she  returned  here  to  de- 
mure, almost  plaintive  piety —  "  I  don't  want  to  do  them, 
and  nothing  can  be  wrong  when  it  seems  right  to  you, 
and  it  is  real  —  ever  so  real,  and  you  give  yourself  to  it, 
every  bit  of  you,  without  thinking,  and  —  and  —  ask 
nothing  —  nothing  at  all  —  " 

Her  vehemence,  her  passionate  assertion,  roused  a 
quick  response  in  him.  "  Would  you  do  that }  "  he 
asked,  his  voice  vibrating.     "  Would  you  —  really } " 

She  smiled  slowly.  "Of  course  I  don't  know,"  she 
said,  "I  haven't  tried  yet;  but  I  never  pretend.  I 
don't  even  pretend  to  like  my  dress  for  the  ball.  It  is 
so  stupid." 

He  felt  annoyed  at  being  led  into  a  burst  of  emotion, 
and  then  baulked.  "  You  will  look  charming,  I'm  sure," 
he  said  in  his  worst  manner.  "  And  if  you  don't  like  it, 
change  to  something  jolly  after  supper.  Lots  of  people 
do." 

"  Will  Mrs.  Smith } "  she  asked  quickly. 


FALLING  STARS  89 

He  flushed  angrily.  *'I  really  don't  know,"  he  be- 
gan.    Her  eyes  were  on  him  curiously. 

"That's  funny,"  she  said.  "I  thought  people  —  not 
that  it  matters,"  she  went  on,  "for  I  can't.  I  haven't  a 
dress.  Do  you  know  I  never  have  anything  I  really 
like  —  never." 

The  girl's  voice  was  absolutely  touching  in  its  listless, 
dull  confidence,  and  he  could  not  help  consolation. 
"  You'll  have  the  ball,  I'm  sure ;  you  will  enjoy  it 
awfully,  and  —  and  you  mustn't  forget  that  you've  given 
me  the  second  waltz,  and  the  first  extra  after  supper." 

She  did  not  answer  for  a  moment.  "  Have  1 1 "  she 
asked.  "I  didn't  know  it;  but  I  will.  That  will  be 
nice.  And  you  are  coming  to  decorate  tomorrow, 
aren't  you  .-*     That  will  be  nice,  too." 

Her  tone  lingered  in  his  ears  long  after  she  had  gone. 
It  was  with  him  even  when  he  was  driving  Mrs.  Smith 
home,  and,  of  course,  making  up  their  little  misunder- 
standing by  the  way ;  possibly,  because  of  this  making 
up,  since,  for  the  first  time,  the  elaborate  ^claircissement 
irked  him.  It  seemed  so  unnecessary  unless  the  whole 
affair  meant  something,  which  was  quite  out  of  the 
question. 

For  instance,  when  driving  Lance  Carlyon  back  to 
the  Fort  afterwards  he  did  not  desire  an  explanation  of 
the  latter's  moodiness.  When  a  chum  was  evil-disposi- 
tioned,  you  waited  calmly  for  him  to  come  round.  That 
was  friendship. 

"  I'm  sorry  Miss  Shepherd  couldn't  come,"  said  Lance, 
suddenly,  his  eyes  on  that  spit  of  sand,  with  its  hovels 
and  logs,  below  the  town.  "  I  wanted  her  to,  awfully, 
if  only  because  she's  never  sQQn  di  durbar ;  but"  —  he 
smiled  —  "I  expect  someone  else  wanted  her  instead. 
By  George !  Dering,  you  don't  know  how  that  girl 
works.  Sometimes  I  feel  it's  a  shame,  and  sometimes 
I  think  it's  splendid  —  though  of  course  it  don't  matter 
a  dash  what  I  think." 

And  that  —  Vincent  Dering  asked  himself  —  was  that 
love  ? 


90  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

Laila  Bonaventura's  voice  came  back  to  make  him  cer- 
tain of  one  thing.  That  would  not  be  her  version  of 
the  old,  old  story ;  and  the  knowledge  made  him,  some- 
how, more  content  with  his  world. 

Meanwhile  another  man  in  yellow  and  silver  lace  was 
being  haunted  by  a  girl's  voice,  which  had  spoken  of 
things  which  no  decent  woman  of  his  own  race  would 
have  mentioned ;  yet  which  had  spoken  to  him  with  an 
equality  which  no  Englishwoman  would  have  allowed 
herself.  And  as  for  Englishmen  !  The  recollection  of 
Father  Narayan's  face  as  he  carried  the  girl  off  made 
Roshan  Khan  curse  under  his  breath. 

But  the  girl  herself  had  been  different.  He  literally 
did  not  know  what  to  think  ;  and  the  desire  for  someone 
else's  opinion  grew  so  strong  that,  finally,  with  a  curious 
mixture  of  reluctance  and  triumph,  he  forsook  the 
straight  road  to  the  Fort,  and  turned  his  horse's  head 
towards  his  grandmother's  house.  She  was  at  least 
a  woman ;  she  might  understand  and  judge  better 
than  he. 

His  first  sight  of  her,  however,  in  unprepared  toilette, 
minus  the  green  satin  trousers  which  gave  such  dignity 
to  her  rotund  little  figure,  minus  all  pretence  at  pomp, 
dirty,  untidy,  unkempt  both  in  her  surroundings  and  her- 
self, made  him  feel  what  a  fool  he  was.  The  more  so 
when  she  began  by  resenting  his  summary  visitation, 
especially  in  uniform,  which,  she  asserted,  made  her 
feel,  even  at  her  age,  as  if  she  were  committing  the  in- 
discretion of  seeing  a  stranger ! 

What  could  a  woman  like  that  know.?  Yet  having 
come,  he  might  as  well  go  through  with  his  errand ;  so 
he  cut  short  her  upbraidings  by  saying  without  preamble  : 

"I  have  seen  my  cousin.  I  spoke  to  her,  and  —  and 
she  spoke  back  again." 

Mumtaza  Mahal  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  incredu- 
lously, then  she  cracked  all  her  finger  joints  over  his 
head,  or  as  nearly  over  it  as  her  height  would  allow. 

"Said  I  not  so  .^^ "  she  asked  prophetically.  **And 
when  will  the  wedding  be .? " 


FALLING  STARS  9 1 

'*  Wedding  ! "  he  echoed  petulantly ;  "  there  is  no  talk 
of  wedding.     I  have  but  seen  her." 

*'  But  seen  her ! "  echoed  the  old  lady  in  her  turn. 
"  That  came  after  in  my  time ;  but  God  knows  how 
things  go  nowadays.     Then  what  didst  speak  about .? " 

He  had  to  give  a  Bowdlerized  version  of  what  had 
passed ;  yet,  even  so,  Mumtaza  Mahal  looked  shocked. 
"A  bold  hussy ;  but  thou  wilt  bit  and  bridle  her." 

He  burst  out  angrily  —  for  his  own  recital  had  shown 
him  the  folly  of  castle-building  on  so  slight  a  foundation 
—  "I  am  a  fool,"  he  said,  " and  so  art  thou  for  all  thy 
years ! " 

Her  little  black  eyes  flashed  angrily.  *'  Not  I !  Did 
she  not  say  she  would  like  to  be  a  Begum  ?  and  if  that 
means  not  —  " 

**  And  could  I  make  her  one .? "  he  interrupted  fiercely. 
"I — a  risaldar  oxi  a  bare  pittance  —  with  no  prospect 
of  rising.     Dost  dream  me  Nawab,  fool  .-*  " 

The  old  lady's  face  grew  cunning  in  a  second,  the  in- 
stinctive love  of  intrigue  roused  by  the  mere  suggestion. 
She  leant  towards  him  eagerly.  "And  wherefore  not, 
Roshan }  Are  all  things  fixed  t  Do  rulers  never 
change }  I  live  here  in  a  corner,  nothing  but  a  poor 
woman  :  yet  I  hear  more,  it  seems,  than  thou  dost.  I 
hear  of  discontent,  of  desires,  of  things  that  call  for 
change.  But  to-day,  they  spoke  of  men  being  killed 
to  make  light  for  these  infidels,  and  Gorakh-nath,  7'^^/, 
hath  sworn  a  miracle." 

He  turned  on  her  with  a  bitter,  reckless  laugh.  **  Is 
that  new }  Is  there  not  always  talk }  The  wise  listen 
not." 

A  vast  importance,  a  real  dignity  came  to  her  in  an 
instant.     "  If  the  Hiizoors  had  listened  to  such  talk  in 

■57." 

A  thrill  ran  through  him  ;  the  thrill  of  secret  curiosity, 
almost  of  expectation  regarding  the  great  Rebellion  from 
which  so  many  things  date,  which  young  India  always 
feels  in  the  presence  of  their  elders,  who  passed  through 
it. 


92  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

"Thou  dost  know,  of  course,"  he  said,  catching  his 
breath  ;  '*  thou  canst  remember." 

"  Ay  !  "  she  replied  sternly,  "  and  there  was  no  more 
talk  than  there  is  now.  'Tis  not  a  question  of  words. 
It  is  fate.  Something  happens,  and  then  —  then  the 
risaldar  may  be  Nawab  —  as  his  fathers  were." 

She  had  gone  too  far,  and  recalled  him  to  himself. 
''Then  let  us  await  the  happening,"  he  said  curtly. 

"  Wait !  "  echoed  the  old  lady,  reverting  to  the  main 
point.  *'Thou  canst  not  wait.  Having  gone  so  far,  the 
negotiations  cannot  drop.  Thou  must  send  the  gift, 
and  see  what  comes  of  it." 

"  A  gift !  "  he  repeated.  "  What  gift,  and  where- 
fore > " 

Mumtaza  Mahal  looked  round  as  if  for  approval, 
tucked  a  packet  of  pan  into  her  cheek,  and  chuckled. 
She  was  on  familiar  ground  now. 

*'  Leave  that  to  me.  I  know  what  girls  like.  I  have 
them  still.  Ay  !  a  dress  that  her  grandmother  wore  — 
good  as  new,  being  for  a  tall  woman  — and  jewels.  '  Tis 
no  harm,  at  least,  see  you ;  since  if  they  like  it  not,  the 
gift  is  returned." 

He  stood  doubtful,  half  pleased,  half  shocked  at  the 
suggestion.  She  could  certainly  send  the  things  back, 
and  he  had  many  a  time  seen  English  women  wearing 
native  jewelry;  ay!  and  decorating  their  rooms  with 
native  dresses.  And  he  could  write  that  they  were  from 
her  cousin  and  servant. 

That  would  be  easier  than  telling. 


CHAPTER   IX 

OUT   OF   THE   PAST 

"  I  FEEL  as  if  I  had  this  moment  arrived,"  said  Muriel 
Smith,  as  she  looked  down  into  the  garden  from  a 
balcony  which  jutted  out  upon  one  side  of  the  wide 
flight  of  marble  steps  that  led  upwards  to  the  loggia  of 


OUT  OF  THE  PAST  93 

the  palace.  *' Yet  I  know  I've  been  here  for  hours.  I 
wonder  when  the  sheer  beauty  will  cease  to  —  to  take 
my  breath  away.      You  understand,  don't  you  }  " 

"Yes!"  assented  Vincent  Bering,  half  grudgingly. 
He  would  rather  not  have  understood  more  than  others. 
But  he  did  ;  that  was  the  worst  of  it. 

He  was  looking  his  best  in  the  old  cavalry  uniform  of 
grey,  and  silver,  and  cherry  colour,  all  laced,  embroid- 
ered, and  glittering  with  epaulettes,  sabretasche,  and 
high  stock,  —  the  uniform  of  a  hundred  years  ago,  when 
adventurers  ruled  half  India,  and  Englishmen  were 
demi-gods.  It  seemed  to  have  brought  something  of 
their  pride  and  recklessness,  something  of  the  dreams 
they  dreamt  into  his  whole  bearing,  as  he  stood  leaning 
over  the  balustrade  gazing  fixedly  at  the  scene  before 
him.  It  was  beautiful  indeed !  Beautiful  with  that  un- 
earthly stillness  which  only  comes  to  illuminations  in  a 
windless  Indian  night.  The  lines  on  lines,  the  curves 
on  curves  of  tiny  lights  which  outlined  each  pillar  and 
arch,  each  buttress  and  recess  of  the  palace,  the  battle- 
mented  wall  of  the  garden,  and  the  turreted  town  rising 
above  it,  were  steady  as  the  stars.  The  fine  fret  of  the 
acacia  trees,  showing  white  against  the  purple  of  the 
sky,  was  still  as  if  carved  in  stone.  There  was  no 
flicker  in  the  soft  radiance,  which  made  the  solid  marble 
seem  translucent,  illumined  mysteriously  from  within. 

The  very  shadows  slept.  Such  scented  shadows, 
clinging  to  the  burnished  orange  trees,  hidden  in  the 
wilderness  of  roses,  dreaming  on  the  perfumed  cushions 
of  the  quaint  balconies  and  cupolas  which  overhung  the 
river. 

But  it  did  not  sleep.  It  moved,  sliding  on  and  on 
ceaselessly. 

So  did  the  water  which  dimpled  and  tinkled  —  after 
Heaven  only  knew  how  many  sad  years  of  silence  and 
decorum  —  over  the  fretted  marble  water-slides. 

How  it  laughed  and  babbled  to  the  cunning  coloured 
lights  placed  behind  it !  And  the  fountains  below, 
rising  out  of  the  water-maze,  —  where   there   was   but 


94  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

room  for  the  flying  feet  of  a  laughing  girl  on  the  marble 
ledges  between  the  lotus-leaves, — laughed  and  tinkled, 
also,  as  they  sent  showers  of  diamonds  back  on  the 
pale  blossoms. 

The  "  jewel  in  the  lotus  "  indeed  ! 

There  was  no  colour  to  be  seen  anywhere.  Only 
that  soft,  steady,  white  radiance,  those  soft,  sleeping, 
black  shadows.  Except  in  the  drifting  water-maze,  and 
the  drifting  men  and  women  around  it. 

Restless,  both  of  them ;  going  on  and  on.  Whither, 
and  wherefore .''  It  was  an  idle  question,  Vincent  told 
himself,  if  the  move  brought,  as  it  did  here,  fresh  laugh- 
ter, fresh  colour. 

"  On  stick  a  night  did  young  Lorenzo^''  quoted  the 
Commissioner's  brogue  from  the  flight  of  steps  where, 
in  the  guise  of  a  French  cook,  he  was  fanning  Laila 
Bonaventura,  with  whom  he  had  been  dancing ;  the 
latter  sitting  still  and  silent  as  the  shadow  in  which  she 
was  half  hidden.  A  crackling  laugh  betrayed  Dr. 
Dillon's  whereabouts.  He  was  perched  on  a  balustrade 
above,  his  legs  dangling,  his  trousers,  as  usual,  display- 
ing his  thin  ankles ;  for  he  was  dressed  in  his  ordinary 
evening  suit. 

"And  old  Lorenzo  also,"  he  scoffed.  "The  disease 
is  nonprotective,  contagious,  and  marked  by  extraordi- 
nary vitality  in  the  virus,  which  after  long  years  may 
spring  to  fresh  life  from  a  dress,  a  bit  of  ribbon,  a  lock 
of  hair." 

"  Oh  !  have  done  with  such  blasphemy  !  "  interrupted 
the  Commissioner,  joyously,  "and  me  racking  me  brains 
which  of  all  the  beauties  of  this  Jiareem  I'd  better  fall  in 
love  with  !  Dering,  you're  a  steward,  I  believe.  Turn 
that  man  out  for  obtruding  the  exigencies  of  everyday 
life  —  including  a  swallow-tail  coat — into  Paradise." 

"  I've  objected  already,  sir,"  said  Vincent  Dering, 
laughing;  "but  he  declares  he  is  a  malarial  bacillus." 

"  A  what }  "  remonstrated  the  brogue. 

"A  malarial  bacillus,  sir,"  explained  the  doctor;  "as 
I  have  failed  hitherto  —  like  everybody  else  —  to  recog- 


OUT  OF  THE  PAST  95 

nize  the  gentleman,  even  through  a  microscope,  I  am 
naturally  at  sea  as  to  the  proper  costume.  And  you 
will,  of  course,  admit  the  universal  rule :  *  When  in 
doubt,  play  a  dress  suit.'  " 

*'By  Jove  !  "  ejaculated  Lance  Carlyon,  who,  mopping 
his  face,  had  joined  the  group,  "what  a  ripping  idea. 
Wish  I'd  thought  of  it  instead  of  this  kit."  He  looked 
regretfully  at  his  mailed  limbs  ;  for  he  was  dressed 
as  Lancelot-du-Lac,  a  costume  which  had  been  chosen 
for  him  two  years  before,  at  Simla,  by  a  grass  widow 
who  had  aspired  to  the  part  of  Guinevere ;  but  who, 
retiring  before  the  young  fellow's  absolute  unconscious- 
ness of  her  intention,  had  left  him  saddled  with  an  ex- 
pensive fancy  dress  which  he  felt  bound  to  wear  out ; 
for  all  his  spare  cash  was  kept  for  guns  and  polo  ponies. 

**  I'm  glad  you  didn't,  Mr.  Carlyon,"  protested  Muriel 
Smith,  consolingly.  *'  You  look  very  nice  in  it.  Only 
those  things  on  your  legs  —  I  forget  the  proper  name  — 
must  be  difficult  to  dance  in." 

"Greaves  —  the  well-greaved  Greeks,  me  dear 
madam,"  put  in  the  Commissioner.  "  Plural  of  grief. 
Ah  !  ye  should  have  seen  him  come  to  it  just  now  with 
the  general's  wife.  Your  chance  of  promotion's  gone, 
me  dear  boy  —  the  marble  floor  resounded." 

"  Well,  it  isn't  half  so  inconvenient  as  my  husband's 
dress,  anyhow,"  continued  Mrs.  Smith,  persisting  in  her 
mission  of  sympathy,  when  the  laugh  at  Lance's 
expense  had  subsided. 

**  That's  all  you  know,  my  dear,"  remonstrated  Mr. 
Smith,  sleepily,  from  a  quiet  nook  in  one  corner.  "I 
never  said  Robinson  Crusoe  was  a  good  dancing  dress, 
but  I  claim  it  isn't  bad  to  sleep  in,  especially  out  of 
doors.     Soft  and  furry  —  and  —  " 

His  voice  sank  into  dreamful  ease. 

"  And  it  can  claim  solitude,  anyhow,"  added  the  doc- 
tor, mournfully.  "Think  of  the  disgust  of  an  old 
established  microbe,  like  myself,  when  his  swept  and 
garnished  home  is  invaded  by  a  party  of  seven  strange 
devils." 


96  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

"  How  rude  you  are  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Smith.  "  Be- 
sides, we  aren't  seven,  and  I  believe  Robinson  Crusoe 
discovered  this  island  before  you  did  !  " 

"I  think  the  French  cook  takes  the  cake,  though," 
said  poor  Lance,  who  had  been  following  up  his  own 
grievance.  '*  Shirt  sleeves  must  be  an  awful  pull  when 
you  are  dancing  with  a  burra  mem.^*^ 

"True  for  you  !  "  assented  the  Commissioner,  sympa- 
thetically. "That's  the  very  reason  I  took  to  it,  me 
dear  boy,  when  me  own  merits  and  me  advancing  years 
doomed  me  to  all  the  stout  ladies  in  India.  Besides,  me 
paper  cap  rids  me  of  two  of  me  reports  anyhow.  Ye 
see  I  always  have  to  wear  two  caps ;  one  before,  and  one 
after  supper.  Otherwise  I  find  the  contints  get  mixed, 
and  make  me  statements  unreliable ;  and  then  me  ene- 
mies say  it's  the  champagne.  I  feel  it  coming  on 
me  now,  but  —  "  he  sprang  to  his  feet,  light  as  a  boy  — 
**  by  a  merciful  providence  there's  the  band  at  the 
'Roast  Beef.'  Now,  are  ye  coming  in  to  supper  with 
me,  Mrs.  Smith,  or  are  you  one  of  those  who  have  to 
change  their  identity  .!*" 

"  Not  I,"  she  declared,  taking  his  arm,  "  I'm  quite 
content  with  myself,  thank  you  !  " 

She  might  well  be,  since  her  costume  of  water-nymph 
could  not  have  been  improved  upon.  It  enabled  her  to 
show  off  her  long,  rippling,  pale  gold  hair,  and  the  filmy 
green  and  white,  the  feathery  weeds,  the  iridescent 
shells,  matched  her  delicate  face,  which  seemed  almost 
overweighted  by  her  water-lily  crown. 

"  Besides,  Undine  can  always  do  quick-change  artist, 
and  assume  a  soul,"  suggested  the  Commissioner,  as 
he  led  her  off ;  adding,  in  mock  alarm :  "  Me  dear 
madam  !  I  apologize  profoundly.  Miss  Bonaventura, 
Captain  Bering's  waiting  for  you,  I'm  sure." 

Laila,  who  had  risen  also,  stood  silent,  looking  taller 
and  slimmer  than  usual  in  her  guise  of  Beatrice.  It 
seemed  to  have  brought  out  the  fact  that  she  had  some 
of  the  best  blood  of  Italy  in  her  veins.     Vincent  Bering 

1  Big  lady. 


OUT  OF  THE  PAST  97 

had  recognized  this  fact — which  Father  Ninian  had 
taken  care  to  communicate  to  him  as  soon  as  the  latter 
had  found  out  that,  nominally  at  any  rate,  the  former 
was  a  Roman  Catholic,  and  therefore  a  possible  lover  — 
when  he  had  gone  up  to  apologize  to  the  girl  for  having 
missed  that  second  dance,  owing  to  his  duties  as  steward. 
The  recognition  had  him  vaguely  sorry  for  the  girl ; 
sorry  also  for  the  old  man  who,  evidently,  dreamt  such 
idle  dreams.     He  did  not  mean  to  marry  a  Begum ! 

He  crossed  over  to  her  now,  offering  his  arm,  but  she 
refused  it,  saying  she  did  not  want  supper. 

"  But  you  are  enjoying  yourself,  surely }''  he  said. 

"Oh,  yes!  thank  you,"  she  answered;  **  only  it  isn't 
real,  of  course.     It  doesn't  mean  anything." 

Dr.  Dillon,  who  was  within  hearing,  looked  down  at 
her  sharply.  "  Perhaps,  my  dear  young  lady,  it  is  as  well 
it  doesn't.  So  let  us  eat,  drink,  and  be  merry,  for  to- 
morrow we  die ! " 

She  looked  up  at  him  quite  shocked.  "  Oh  !  I  didn't 
mean  that,  of  course;  that  is  wrong.  I  only  meant 
that  things  don't  match  —  the  place  and  the  people,  I 
mean.  Except  one  or  two  —  those  for  instance."  She 
pointed  out  Roshan  Khan  who,  dressed  as  himself, 
was  taking  advantage  of  the  emptiness  of  the  garden 
during  supper  time,  to  go  round  it  with  old  Akbar 
Khin  as  guide,  the  latter  in  the  wildest  antics  of  alacrity. 

*'Did  you  ever  see  such  a  funny  figure.?"  continued 
the  girl,  with  an  odd  little  laugh.  "  He  is  quite  crazy  with 
joy.  He  told  me  to-day  this  was  the  first  time  for  forty  years 
that  he  had  been  himself  !    That  he  has  been  bewitched.'* 

*'  I  believe  I've  been  bewitched  too,"  said  Vincent, 
suddenly.     "  Let  us  all  go  back  forty  years." 

Dr.  Dillon  swung  his  feet  further  over,  and  dropped 
to  the  ground  almost  between  them. 

"  That  would  effectually  annihilate  two  of  the  company, 
and  reduce  me  to  cutting  my  teeth  ;  and  I  want  the  use 
of  them  at  supper.  Come  along  and  have  something 
solid.  Miss  Bonaventura ;  there  is  nothing  so  indiges- 
tible as  fancy  sweets." 


98  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

But  she  was  firm,  and  moved  away  to  where  a  small 
staircase  led  from  the  balcony  to  the  upper  storey.  She 
did  not  care  for  supper,  she  repeated,  and  she  had  to 
mend  her  dress ;  someone  had  trodden  on  it,  and  she 
would  not  be  able  to  dance  till  it  was  mended. 

"Don't  forget  ours  —  the  first  extra,''  called  Vincent 
after  her.  She  turned  where  the  narrow  stair,  after 
climbing  the  outside  wall,  against  which  it  clung  like  a 
swallow's  nest,  ended  in  the  shadow  of  an  archway.  "  I 
shall  be  back  in  plenty  of  time,"  she  said.  Vincent 
thought  he  had  never  seen  her  look  so  nice,  so  young, 
so  fresh,  so  smiling. 

'^That's  a  queer  girl,"  remarked  the  doctor,  as  he 
lounged  off,  "not  half  bad.  That  is  just  it,  in  fact ;  she 
is  a  clear  case  of  atavism,  and  as  her  ancestors  seem  to 
have  been  either  saints  or  sinners,  there  you  are !  For 
it's  the  same  tissue  absolutely ;  indeed,  there's  precious 
little  difference  between  the  two  when  you  come  to 
analyze." 

"  I  never  do,"  interrupted  Vincent,  shortly.  The 
doctor's  cynicism  bored  him,  especially  here,  where  a 
man  might  at  least  be  allowed  to  escape  the  brutal  real- 
ities. Here,  where  even  the  houses  in  the  bazaar  be- 
yond the  garden  wall  —  those  houses  that  were  by  the 
common  light  of  day  so  squalid,  so  unsavoury,  so  full 
of  mean,  miserable  detail  —  showed  like  star-palaces 
against  the  sky ! 

A  sudden  comprehension  came  to  him.  How  blind 
of  the  girl  to  say  all  this  meant  nothing  !  How  crassly 
idiotic  of  himself  to  think  of  going  back  forty  years  to 
enjoy  this !  This  was  the  same  yesterday,  to-day,  for 
ever !  It  was  the  love  of  physical  pleasure,  the  desire 
to  appropriate,  to  have  and  to  hold,  which  had  civilized 
the  world,  and  made  man  out  of  a  monkey. 

" '  The  Cradle  of  the  Gods,'  did  you  say,  my  dear 
lady  } "  said  a  courteous  old  voice  from  the  stairs,  break- 
ing in  on  his  solitude.  "Just  so  —  the  pilgrims  go 
there  every  year.  It  lies  —  let  me  see  —  I  think  I  can 
point  it  out  to  you.     Ah  !  Captain  Bering  !  "  continued 


OUT  OF  THE  PAST  99 

Father  Ninian,  finding  the  balcony  into  which  he  had 
stepped  en  passant,  occupied.  *'  We  don't  disturb  you, 
I  hope  ;  but  Mrs.  Palmer  was  speaking  about  the  *  Cradle 
of  the  Gods.'  It  must  lie  —  don't  you  think  so  t  —  over 
there."     He  pointed  beyond  the  star-palaces. 

"I  should  fancy  so,  sir,"  replied  Vincent,  *'that  is 
about  due  north." 

"  Then  I  am  wrong,"  smiled  the  old  priest ;  "the  cave 
is  northwest,  and  the  passage  to  it  is  difficult  —  almost 
incredibly  difficult." 

'*Yet  you  have  been  there  several  times,  haven't 
you  } "  said  Mrs.  Palmer. 

Father  Ninian  shook  his  head.  *'  Never  to  the  cave 
itself,  madam.  I  am  not  quite  sure  whether  I  ever 
really  meant  to  go  so  far,  —  and  bow  in  the  House  of 
Rimmon  !  It  would  have  been  interesting  no  doubt  — 
but  — "  he  glanced  down  almost  boyishly  at  his  black 
soutane —  "  my  cloth,  my  dear  lady,  has  to  be  considered. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  something  always  hindered  me.  I 
went  as  a  medicine  man,  you  see ;  and  so  many  fall  by 
the  wayside.  I  wonder,  indeed,  how  any  reach  it.'* 
He  paused,  and  a  wistful  smile  made  his  face  look 
dreamy.  "  Some  say  none  do.  Ajogi — Gorakh-nath, 
Captain  Bering,  —  he  whom  you  turned  out  of  the  gun 
—  claims  to  be  the  only  man  who  has  ever  seen  the  real 
cave;  the  rest  have  seen — illusion  T'  He  paused 
again,  and  his  smile  changed.  "  'Tis  a  claim,  madam, 
made  by  more  than  Gorakh-nath  ;  who,  by  the  way, 
promises  to  defy  you.  Captain  Bering.  Padlock  or  no 
padlock,  he  is  to  get  in  and  out  of  the  gun  as  he  chooses 
while  the  pilgrims  are  here." 

Vincent  laughed  contemptuously.  "  I  don't  think 
miracles  go  down,  even  in  India,  nowadays,  sir." 

The  old  priest's  face  grew  grave.  "  I  cannot  give 
my  assent  to  that ;  I  who  have  seen  the  blood  of  a  saint 
turn  crimson  and  flow.  Faith,  Captain  Bering,  —  that 
is,  the  belief  of  man  in  a  power  beyond  his  own,  —  is  the 
same  yesterday,  to-day,  and  for  ever !  " 

Vincent  Bering  bowed  politely,  and  kept  his  shrug  of 


lOO  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

the  shoulders  for  the  old  man's  back,  as  he  followed  him 
upstairs  to  the  supper  room. 

The  same  yesterday,  to-day,  for  ever !  True,  in  a  way. 
There  were  two  stabilities  amid  the  chances  and 
changes  of  this  mortal  life.  The  Garden  of  the  Palace. 
The  Cradle  of  the  Gods.  Faith  and  Love — for  it  came 
to  that  in  the  end. 

Here  the  familiar  *sight  of  a  ball  supper  in  full  swing 
ended  his  rare  reflections,  and  he  slipped  into  a  place 
beside  a  lively  vivandiere,  who  welcomed  him  with  en- 
treaties to  join  in  a  comic  opera  she  was  going  to  get 
up  at  Simla.  The  last  new  rage  in  London ;  she  had 
written  home  for  the  rights. 

He  was  in  a  new  atmosphere  in  a  moment,  and 
straightway  forgot  the  garden  ;  forgot  everything  but 
that  the  supper  was  excellent,  his  companion  gay. 
Even  the  Commissioner's  high  voice,  as  he  talked 
nonsense,  seemed  far  from  the  gravity  even  of  con- 
ferring titles,  and  it  seemed  incredible  that  the  small 
man  who  sat  surrounded  by  a  host  of  departmental 
heads  was  really  representing  a  whole  Empire. 

When  the  band  downstairs,  by  beginning  on  Strauss's 
"  Lovelong  livelong  day,"  warned  him  of  his  engage- 
ment to  Laila,  he  passed  to  it  half  reluctantly.  She 
would  be  sure  to  dance  badly :  that  make  of  girl  always 
did.  So  he  was  relieved  to  find  the  ball  room,  and  the 
wide  loggia  into  which  it  opened,  almost  empty.  Only 
a  couple  or  two  were  spinning  slowly,  idly,  in  and  out  of 
the  resounding  arches. 

He  went  on,  therefore,  to  the  balcony  beside  the  stairs. 
If  the  girl  was  there  it  would  be  an  excuse  for  sitting 
out.  If  not,  he  could  always  say  he  had  waited  for  her. 
Either  way,  he  would  have  time  for  a  cigarette. 

As  he  went  down  towards  it  he  met  Lance  Carlyon 
coming  up,  and  called  to  him  :  "Supper's  Ai  ;  so's  the 
wine.     It's  going  awfully  well,  isn't  it  .-^  " 

"Suppose  so,"  replied  Lance,  "but  I'm  going  to  cut. 
These  togs  are  awful ;  but  if  I  go  now  I'll  have  time  to 
change  and  have  a  shoot  down  the  river.     Am-ma  says 


OUTO'FfTim  fl4ST.i*,  ;.  .'  ;  ,\         1 01 

the  ducks  sit  like  stones  before  dawn.  They  won't  miss 
me,  as  a  bachelor,  I  suppose  ? " 

Vincent  looked  at  him  compassionately.  *'  A  bache- 
lor," he  echoed.  ''It's  about  your  last  chance,  I  take 
it.  However,  if  you  want  to  kill  something  —  it's  a 
common  symptom — go!  I  shall  stop  till  the  bitter  — 
or  sweet  —  end!  One  doesn't  get  into  a  streak  like 
this  once  in  a  blue  moon  !     I  feel  fit  for  anything." 

As  he  sat  down  for  a  smoke  in  the  corner  vacated 
by  Robinson  Crusoe,  this  feeling  was  strong  upon  him, 
and  sent  the  blood  tingling  to  his  finger-tips. 

The  band  had  by  this  time  ceased  piping  to  unwilling 
dancers,  so  the  still,  warm,  scented  air  was  left  to  the 
tinkling  ripple  of  the  water,  the  rippling  tinkle  of  dis- 
tant voices ;  for  supper  had  almost  emptied  the  garden 
also.  The  better  for  its  picturesque  effect.  Now  the 
imagination  could  people  it  —  as  Laila  Bonaventura 
(the  girl  had  sense)  had  phrased  it  —  with  figures  that 
matched ;  real  figures. 

A  chiming  silvery  clash  above  him  made  him  turn  to 
look  upwards  to  the  archway  where  Laila  Bonaventura 
had  disappeared.  It  would  be  a  bore  if  she  were  return- 
ing to  interrupt  his  cigarette ;  though,  in  truth,  she  had 
been,  he  remembered,  almost  attractive. 

Almost  — 

He  gave  an  exclamation,  and  rose  to  his  feet.  She 
was  coming,  indeed,  but  not  as  she  had  gone. 

There  is  no  dress  in  the  world  which  is  at  once  so 
dainty  and  so  sensuous,  as  the  court  dress  of  a  Mahome- 
dan  lady,  and  Laila  Bonaventura  was  wearing  one  as 
she  came  slowly  down  the  stairs  towards  him,  a  radiant 
white  figure  against  the  radiant  white  marble. 

The  folds  of  her  long  silver-gauze  skirt  —  so  cun- 
ningly fashioned  that  it  trailed  in  rolling  shimmer- 
crested  billows  behind  her,  yet  left  no  beauty  of  her 
round  limbs  hidden  —  clipped  her  about  the  waist  like 
a  serpent's  skin.  So  hiding,  yet  revealing,  was  the  soft 
film  of  fine  muslin  over  the  scented,  ivory-tinted  corse- 
let, which  fitted  close  to  the  full  curves  of  her  figure. 


102      /,  r.  *; ;;  r^^s-^ffmrs  ^^f  the  lord 

So  was  it  with  the  silver-streaked  veil,  through  which 
the  jewels  in  her  dusky  hair,  the  bracelets  on  her  fair 
arms,  shone  undimmed.  So  was  it  even  with  the  chim- 
ing fringes  of  her  silver  anklets,  as  they  slid  merrily 
to  cover  and  uncover  the  small  feet,  tucked  so  care- 
lessly into  the  little  silver-tipped  slippers. 

To  hide  and  to  reveal,  that  was  the  note  of  all ! 

As  she  came  nearer,  too,  he  saw  that  her  lips  were 
reddened,  her  dark  eyes  darkened  artificially.  And  yet 
her  face  did  not  correspond  to  all  this.  It  was  curiously 
grave,  dignified,  almost  anxious. 

"  Do  you  like  it }  "  she  asked,  suddenly  pausing  a  pace 
or  two  from  him  to  stand  still,  heaped  round  by  those 
shimmer-crested  billows,  and  so,  with  one  hand,  gather 
the  straight  folds  of  her  veil  to  curves  over  her  arm.  As 
she  did  so,  he  saw,  with  a  curious  throb  at  his  heart, 
that  her  wrists  were  fettered  to  each  other  by  long 
trailing  chains  of  scented  jasmine  flowers. 

A  dainty  prisoning  indeed  !  The  suggestion  of  it  set 
his  head  whirling. 

Like  it  !  —  His  very  admiration  kept  him  silent. 

*'  It  makes  it  feel  more  real,"  she  went  on,  "  don't 
you  think  it  does  ? " 

Real,  or  a  dream  }  He  did  not  know  which.  He  felt 
a  fool  to  stand  so  silent;  yet  no  words — as  she  would 
phrase  it  —  came  to  match.  None,  at  least,  that  he 
dare  use  to  her  unconscious  dignity. 

**  Only  I  can't  dance,  you  see,"  she  continued,  bend- 
ing to  look  at  the  billows  about  her  feet.  "Besides,"  — 
she  looked  up  suddenly,  her  whole  expression  changed, 
she  flung  her  fettered  hands  forward  almost  into  his  face. 
The  strings  on  strings  of  scented  flowers  looping  them- 
selves in  ever  widening  curves,  hung  like  a  screen 
between  him  and  her  laughter, 

'*  I'm  a  prisoner  —  yours,  I  suppose."  He  fell  back 
for  half  a  second,  then  caught  the  hand  in  his. 

And  then,  in  an  instant,  it  came  back  to  him  —  the 
measureless  glad  content  of  that  mistake  in  the  dark  ! 
He  had  told  himself  ever  since  that  it  had  come,  then, 


OUT  OF  THE  PAST  IO3 

by  mistake — incomprehensible,  it  is  true,  horrible  to  a 
certain  extent,  but  still  in  error.  But  this  was  no 
mistake ! 

**  Yes  !  —  my  prisoner,"  he  said.  "  Come,  and  sit 
down,  and  let  us  talk."     He  wanted  time  to  think. 

She  shook  her  head.  *'  Not  here,  please  !  No  one  is 
to  see  me  but  you,  only  you.  That  is  why  I  waited  till 
I  saw  you  were  alone.      I  only  put  it  on  for  you  to  see." 

A  sudden  remembrance  of  something  she  had  said  to 
him  —  "  When  it  is  real,  and  you  give  yourself  —  every- 
thing, and  ask  nothing."  The  certainty  that  she  was 
doing  this  now  made  him  say  quickly  :  — 

"Don't  be  afraid  —  they  shall  not  see.  Come,  let  us 
go  into  the  garden — those  balconies  by  the  river  —  " 

She  shook  her  head  again. 

"  They  are  not  safe,  and  my  guardian  would  be  so 
angry.  Though  it  isn't  really  wrong  "  —  she  added, 
with  her  odd  vein  of  piety ;  "  but  when  somebody  sent 
me  the  dress,  I  thought  it  would  be  fun,  and  I  wanted 
you  to  see." 

"  Sent  you  the  dress  }  "  he  echoed  hotly.     "  Who  ? " 

She  looked  at  him  vastly  amused.  "Are  you  jealous.? 
But  I'm  not  going  to  tell  you.  That  is  just  like  the 
novels,  isn't  it ;  but  what  is  the  use  of  making  people 
angry  t " 

"  How  do  you  know  I  should  be  angry,"  he  asked 
coldly. 

She  smiled  like  a  Sphinx  might  smile.  "  I'm  certain. 
Come !  Perhaps  I'll  tell  you  when  we  get  to  a  safe 
place.  There's  one  close  by.  My  guardian  wouldn't 
have  it  lit  up  because — he  always  has  the  same  reason 
for  everything,  you  know,  and  it  is  so  dull  —  because 
something  happened  there  long  ago.    As  if  it  mattered !  " 

As  she  spoke,  they  had  been  passing  down  the  marble 
steps,  her  silver  anklets  chiming  ;  and  now,  as  they 
paused  an  instant  on  the  edge  of  the  water-maze,  they 
chimed  still.  But  to  a  new,  curiously  provocative 
measure,  and  her  face,  her  figure,  her  very  voice, 
changed  as  if  to  keep  time  with  it. 


104  ^^^  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

"I  used  to  run  all  over  it,  in  and  out,  when  I  was 
little,"  she  chattered  mischievously,  "and  old  Akbar 
used  to  run  after  me  and  tumble  in !  I  could  do  it  now, 
and  you  could  chase  me,  if  I  hadn't  all  this  —  "  she  gave 
a  little  mutinous  kick  at  her  sweeping  skirt.  Then  sud- 
denly she  laughed.  *'  Poor  old  Akbar  !  I'd  like  him 
to  see  me,  but  I  don't  see  how  it  could  be  managed. 
And  nobody  else  must  —  but  you.  So  come  —  come 
quick  !  " 

She  drew  him  after  her  by  one  hand,  like  a  child  at 
play.  Across  the  marble  plinth,  right  to  the  wide 
arched  passage  in  the  lower  storey ;  and  when,  having 
gained  in  the  race,  he  would  from  habit  have  gone 
straight  on  towards  the  courtyard,  she  pulled  him  back 
with  a  peal  of  laughter. 

"  Not  that  way,  stupid  !  Here  —  it's  a  dear  little  bal- 
cony all  by  itself  with  steps  down  to  the  river  and  a  boat." 

"  Perfect !  "  he  exclaimed  with  an  answering  laugh,  as 
he  disappeared  after  her. 

But  in  that  instant's  pause  two  figures  had  passed 
into  the  other  end  of  the  long  passage  from  the  chapel. 
Two  figures,  one  of  which,  half-disdainfully,  half-regret- 
fully,  had  been  going  round  the  beauties  of  the  palace  ; 
the.  other,  gambolling  sideways  by  reason  of  its  curbing 
deference  its  urging  servility,  engaged  in  garrulous 
tales  of  past  glory. 

"  Yea  !  Ger-eeb-pun-wdz,''  it  was  saying,  "  Bun-avatir 
used  to  meet  Anari  Begum  here.  She  liked  him  best 
in  uniform,  and  she  wore  —  " 

It  was  then  that,  framed  in  the  distant  archway,  seen 
clear  against  the  radiance  of  the  garden,  that  vision  of  a 
laughing  girl,  a  flashing  uniform  appeared. 

Old  Akbar  Khdn  gave  a  faint  mumbling  petition  to 
be  preserved,  and  fell  back,  his  teeth  chattering. 

"  Anar  —  Anar  —  herself,"  he  muttered.  *'  And  he  — 
God  help  us  all !     Why  did  they  light  up  the  garden  }  " 

But  Roshan  Khan  knew  better.  His  eyes  were 
younger.  And  he  had  the  key  —  the  key  of  that  shim- 
mering silver  dress. 


THE  PIVOTS  OF  LIFE  105 

"Fool!"  he  said  sharply.  **They  are  no  ghosts. 
'Twas  Ti^xxvig-sahib  and  —  and  — "  he  gave  a  bitter 
laugh  —  '*  one  of  his  mems.    They  do  such  things  often." 

But  as  he  walked  on,  his  hands  clenched  themselves 
to  the  tune  of  the  words  which  sang  in  his  brain,  "  God 
smite  his  soul  to  hell !     God  smite  his  soul  to  hell !  " 

The  two  great  stabilities.  Love  of  God  and  Love  of 
woman,  had  joined  hands,  as  they  always  do. 

A  formidable  combination. 


CHAPTER   X 

THE   PIVOTS    OF   LIFE 

Lance  Carlyon  was  not,  as  a  rule,  given  either  to 
loss  of  spirits  or  temper,  yet  both  were  at  vanishing- 
point  as  he  flung  off  the  garb  of  his  namesake  of  the 
lake ;  swearing  as  he  did  so  that  he  would  never  wear 
the  blessed  thing  again.  It  cramped  him  all  over ; 
body  and  soul.  And  then  —  for  he  knew  his  Tenny- 
son well,  as  one  of  his  name  could  hardly  fail  to  do  — 
his  memory  raced  swiftly  over  the  love-loyal  knight's 
career ;  until  suddenly  he  laughed  at  a  phrase  which  had 
always  tickled  him.  ^^  So  groaned  Sir  Lancelot  —  not 
knowing  he  should  die  a  holy  man.'' 

If  he  had.? — what  would  have  been  the  result.?  Would 
he  simply  have  refrained  from  remorseful  pain,  or  from 
the  honour  rooted  in  dishonour  which  caused  it } 

With  a  mighty  stretch  of  his  sound  young  muscles  at 
the  relief,  Lance  caught  up  his  Indian  clubs,  and  went 
elaborately,  conscientiously,  through  his  daily  series  of 
exercises  before  putting  on  his  dust-coloured  shooting- 
suit,  and  swathing  himself  with  the  necessary  plenti- 
tude  of  belts,  cartridge-boxes,  and  gaiters.  The  latter — 
being,  after  Indian  fashion,  simply  a  couple  of  bandages 
neatly  twined  —  were,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  much  tighter 
than  his  discarded  greaves ;  but  the  clip  of  them  about 
his   ca'ives  was  familiarly  reminiscent   of   many  a  day 


I06  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

Spent  out  in  the  jungle  alone,  or  at  most  with  some 
companion  of  Am-ma's  type.  A  man  whose  only  claim 
to  be  called  one  in  these  later  days  was  his  undoubted 
dominion  over  the  birds  of  the  air,  the  fish  of  the  sea, 
the  beasts  of  the  field.  How  jolly  it  had  been !  And 
how  the  deuce  could  a  fellow  like  Vincent  Bering  — 

Lance,  sorting  cartridges  systematically  with  an  eye 
to  a  possible  snipe,  whistled  a  tune  which  Vincent  was 
always  asked  to  sing  at  the  Smiths',  **  Sweet  is  true  love 
—  and  sweet  is  Death.'* 

Well,  he  preferred  the  Death.  So,  catching  up  his 
gun,  he  made  his  way  to  the  crypt-like  flight  of  steps 
which,  half  way  down  the  straight  river-edged  wall  of 
the  Fort  —  between  its  northern  bastion  where  the 
stream  turned  hillwards  at  a  sharp  angle,  and  the 
southern  one  beside  the  bathing-steps  —  led  to  a  tiny 
landing-stage.  Here  the  canoe,  which  he  had  hired 
for  such  excursions  from  Ramanund  (whose  last  experi- 
ence of  boating  had  rather  sickened  him  of  its  pleasures), 
lay  moored. 

Keeping  the  paddle  ready  for  steering,  he  let  the 
stream,  which  here  clung  swift  and  smooth  to  the  wall, 
take  him  with  it ;  partly  because  he  had  no  wish  to  be 
seen  by  any  revellers  in  the  palace.  But  the  sight  of 
the  latter  made  him  slip  the  paddle-blade  into  the  sliding 
water,  and  send  the  canoe  swerving  out  for  a  better  view. 

It  was  wondrously  beautiful,  seen  from  the  river,  with 
every  line  and  curve  of  light  reflected  almost  as  clear  as 
the  reality.  The  sight  held  his  attention,  so  that  he 
was  abreast  of  the  bathing-steps  ere  he  remembered  his 
desire  for  secrecy,  and,  in  his  haste,  the  canoe  —  answer- 
ing to  his  swift  stroke  —  almost  spun  round,  bringing 
him,  in  an  instant,  within  an  ace  of  collision  with  the 
hard  brick.     As  it  was,  he  heard  a  faint  grating  sound. 

"  By  Jove  !  that  was  a  near  shave,"  he  muttered  to 
himself. 

Out  of  the  darkness  of  the  courtyard,  for  the  unillu- 
minated  block  of  the  palace  rose  between  it  and  the 
white  radiance,  came  a  voice  :  — 


THE  PIVOTS  OF  LIFE  lo/ 

"  Is't  thou  ?  Hast  brought  the  tool  —  we  must  get 
the  job  done  ere  dawn  and  —  " 

The  rest  was  inaudible  as  the  river  slid  him  on.  What 
were  they  up  to  ?  he  wondered  idly ;  taking  advantage, 
doubtless,  of  the  absolute  desertion  of  the  courtyard, 
the  entry  to  which  had  been  blocked  for  the  night,  the 
main  entrance  to  the  palace  having  been  prepared  for 
the  reception  of  the  guests.  Were  they  meddling  with 
the  padlock  Bering  had  put  on  the  tampion  which 
stopped  the  muzzle  of  the  old  gun  .-*  Time  to  see  to 
that  in  the  morning. 

He  was  now  steering  his  way  just  on  the  edge  of  the 
shadow  cast  by  the  wall  on  the  water,  and  in  front  of 
him  jutted  out  a  balcony  smaller  than  the  rest,  and 
nearer  the  river.  Those  upper  ones,  he  knew,  were 
part  of  the  chapel ;  but  this  — 

He  looked  at  it  narrowly,  wondering  if  he  had  ever 
noticed  it  before,  then  let  the  paddle  sink  idly  across 
the  boat,  and  sat  staring  at  what  he  saw.  Bering,  of 
course !  But  the  woman  !  Who  on  earth  was  she  ?  A 
native }  Hardly ;  and  yet  he  did  not  remember  seeing 
anyone  at  the  ball  whose  dress  was  in  the  least  like 
this  ;  even  in  the  dark  it  glittered. 

"  Bo  you  call  that  love } "  came  a  voice  echoing  softly 
over  the  water.  "  I  don't.  When  I  love,  I  mean  to 
give,  not  to  take ;  and  the  more  I  give,  the  more  Til 
have  to  give  ;  because,  you  see,  love  will  come  back  —  it 
must." 

By  all  that  was  incomprehensible,  Laila  Bonaventura ! 
And,  if  there  was  any  certainty  in  these  shadows, 
Bering's  arm  — 

Phew  !  Lance  knew  his  Shakespeare  also ;  had,  in 
fact,  a  curiously  ingenuous  and  human  acquaintance 
with  even  the  exact  words  of  the  great  master.  So  as 
he  drifted  on,  leaving  those  two  in  the  balcony,  a  line 
drifted  with  him  :  — 

"  She  whom  I  love  now 
Doth  grace  for  grace  and  love  for  love  allow. 
The  other  did  not  so." 


I08  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

He  felt  a  righteous  relief  at  the  idea,  for  he  was 
eminently  virtuous.  Poor  old  Vincent !  This  was 
better  than  the  other  —  he  paused  doubtfully  —  Well! 
different  people  had  different  tastes.  He,  for  instance, 
had  never  admired  Mrs.  Smith.  And  then  Bering,  good 
chap  as  he  was,  had,  everybody  knew,  a  touch  of  the  tar- 
brush himself.  Only  a  touch,  still  it  made  a  difference; 
for  one  had  to  consider  the  children.  For  instance, 
when  he  married  —  Why  a  vision  of  a  child's  head  he 
had  once  seen,  far  away  in  the  north,  covered  with  soft, 
waving  curls  of  sun-bright  red-gold  hair,  chestnut — yes, 
chestnut  hair,  the  very  colour  of  that  beast  of  a  pony 
who  boshed  him  at  polo  —  should  have  come  to  him  at 
that  moment  he  did  not  know ;  but  he  fled  from  it,  bash- 
ful as  any  girl  over  her  first  fancy,  and,  bending  forward, 
sent  the  canoe  racing  the  foam-bubbles  on  the  swifter 
current  with  all  the  strength  of  his  young  arms. 

That  was  the  mission  house,  ending  the  long  curve  of 
the  city.  The  mission  house,  where  she  slept — the  boat 
raced  harder  here  —  where  she  lived  in  the  thick  of  it  — 
God  bless  her!  Here  the  boat  slackened,  partly  because 
the  spit  was  reached,  and  in  the  darkness,  made  visible 
by  that  soft  white  radiance  behind  him,  he  must  not 
miss  Am-ma's  hut.  Am-ma,  who  had  dominion  over 
wild  duck,  among  other  things  in  that  munificent  gift 
of  the  Creator  to  His  own  image.  Am-ma,  who  must 
come  out  and  show  those  who  had  fallen  from  their 
high  estate  through  civilization  how  to  lure  the  birds  to 
their  death. 

"  Sweet  is  true  Love  though  given  in  vain, 
And  sweet  is  Death  which  puts  an  end  to  pain?'' 

The  refrain  came  back  in  this  connection,  and  Lance's 
voice,  as  he  sang  it,  if  not  musical,  held  a  hint  of  some- 
thing beyond  the  mere  maudlin  expression-stop  of  the 
ordinary  song-singer. 

He  need  not,  he  told  himself,  have  feared  to  overlook 
Am-ma*s  wigwam ;  for  there,  not  far  from  the  point  of 
the  spit  it  stood,  all  lit  up ;  circled  round  closely  with  a 


THE  PIVOTS   OF  LIFE  109 

row  of  little  lights  like  those  at  the  palace.  Were  the 
primitive  folk  down  here  aping  their  masters  and  having 
a  ball  of  their  own  ?  Smiling  at  the  thought,  he  ran 
the  canoe  on  shore  and  walked  up  to  the  reed  hut. 
Then  he  saw  that  the  circle  of  lights  was  broken  by 
a  dark  patch.  It  was  Am-ma  himself,  squatting  on  his 
heels.  To  one  side  of  him,  firmly  fixed  in  the  sand,  was 
a  freshly-killed  crocodile's  head,  its  jaws  ingeniously  dis- 
tended by  a  thin  cane  to  which  a  string  was  attached. 
By  pulling  this  the  dead  mouth  seemed  to  open  and 
shut,  as  the  pliant  rattan  bent  under  the  strain  and 
sprang  back  again.  In  his  other  hand  he  held  a  bloody 
spear.  Despite  these  fearful  preparations,  however,  the 
first  glimpse  of  an  approaching  figure  set  him  visibly 
trembling  with  fright ;  until,  on  its  coming  nearer  the 
lights,  he  sprang  to  his  feet  with  a  sudden  blubbering 
shout  of  relief. 

"  I  thought  —  this  fool,  this  atom  of  dust,  thought  — 
the  Huzoor  was  the  devil !  "  he  explained,  capering  and 
chuckling  to  make  much  of  the  joke,  now  that  the  fear 
of  its  being  a  reality  was  over. 

"The  devil!"  echoed  Lance.  "What  the  dickens 
should  the  devil  come  here  for }  " 

Am-ma  looked  half-grave,  half-important.  Did  not 
the  Huzoor  know,  he  explained,  that  when  life  was  com- 
ing into  the  world,  all  the  demons  in  it  wanted  to  get 
hold  of  the  new-born  thing .?  Hence  the  lights,  hence 
the  crocodile's  head  and  the  spear ;  also  his  own  valiance. 
Hence,  also,  the  impossibility  of  his  accompanying  the 
Presence  after  duck.  If  he,  the  father  of  the  thing  to 
be  born,  was  not  there  to  fight  the  demons,  what  hope 
could  there  be  for  the  son.? — and  here  this  quaint,  broad, 
ugly  face  grew  wistful  —  for  it  must  be  a  son,  surely, 
this  time.  No !  he  had  no  children ;  the  demons  had 
taken  them  all,  every  one ;  though  he  had  left  nothing 
undone,  though  he  had  sought  out  one  medicine-man 
after  another.  What  did  it  matter  "i  he  asked  patheti- 
cally, if  the  charm  were  of  one  faith  or  another,  if  it 
brought  a  child.     He  had  tried  all.    His  own  and  every- 


no  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

body  else's.  But  they  all  died,  the  children,  girls  and 
boys  ;  died  when  they  were  born.  The  demon  somehow 
slipped  through  the  lights ;  the  charm  was  not  strong 
enough ;  that  was  all.  So  this  time,  when  he  had  seen 
that  the  Husoors  had  the  Dee-puk-rdg^  the  sign  of  kings, 
that  they  were,  indeed,  light-bringers,  as  his  people  had 
been  of  old,  he  had  sent  for  the  Wi^^-sahiba^  and  she 
had  come.  She  was  there  in  the  hut,  even  now,  fight- 
ing the  demons. 

Lance  gave  a  quick  catch  of  his  breath,  and  stood 
silent.  Right  over  the  miserable  reed  hut,  clear  against 
the  violet  of  the  moonless  sky,  rose  those  palaces  of 
stars  lit  up  for  pleasure.  It  almost  seemed  to  him  that 
the  slight  breeze,  which  was  beginning  to  whisper  of  the 
dawn,  held  in  it  the  faint  rhythm  of  a  distant  waltz. 

And  here,  at  his  feet,  was  this  hut,  lit  up  for  pain. 
He  heard  that  also,  in  a  faint  moan,  which  sent  a  shiver 
through  him ;  the  shiver  of  one  who  finds  himself  bare 
of  accustomed  covering,  out  in  the  open,  far  from  any 
shelter  from  the  cold  sky. 

"  Of  course  you  can't  come,  Am-ma,"  he  said,  moving 
off.  "Well!  I  hope  the  Miss-.y^/^/<^^  will  —  will  keep 
the  devil  away.     I  —  I  —  expect  she  will !  " 

As  he  floated  a  little  further  down  stream,  vaguely 
obeying  the  instructions  which  Am-ma,  regretful  for  all 
his  anxiety,  had  shouted  after  him,  he  told  himself  that 
if  anybody  could,  she  would.  If  a  fellow  married  her, 
for  instance  — 

He  drew  the  canoe  on  to  the  sand-bank,  Am-ma  had 
spoken  of,  somewhat  sooner  than  his  directions  warranted, 
in  order  to  stifle  thought  by  action.  And  it  needed 
every  sense  on  the  alert  to  tell  in  the  darkness  if  one 
was  keeping  a  fairly  straight  path.  That  scarcely 
audible  "/?/,  lip''  on  the  right  meant  that  the  water 
was  close  by,  running  an  inch  or  two  below  a  sheer  yet 
crumbling  edge  of  earth.  That  yielding  softness  on  the 
left  meant  the  ridge  of  dry  sand.  His  way  was  between 
the  two.  Every  now  and  again  a  watchful  quack,  a 
distant  flutter,  told  him  that  the  ducks  were  not  far  off. 


THE  PIVOTS   OF  LIFE  III 

And  in  the  east  the  faintest  lightening  of  the  purple 
warned  him  he  was  none  too  soon,  since  the  dawn  in 
India  comes  quickly. 

But  this  must  be  the  place  ;  a  sort  of  bunker  right  at 
the  end  of  the  bank.  Here,  cuddling  down  almost  lux- 
uriously into  loose  dry  sand,  still  warm  from  yesterday's 
sun,  he  waited  for  that  hint  of  light  in  the  far  east  to 
grow  strong  enough  for  him  to  see. 

It  is  always  an  experience  to  sit  and  wait  for  daylight, 
ignorant,  helpless  till  it  comes,  of  what  lies  close  at 
hand.  Lance  Carlyon,  crouching  in  that  still  warm 
sand,  felt  a  sudden  forlornness,  a  sense  of  having  parted 
with  something. 

But,  almost  on  the  heels  of  this,  came  a  sense  of  hav- 
ing found  something  ;  of  strange,  quick,  new,  yet  familiar 
companionship.  It  seemed  to  him  as  he  watched  that 
faint  grey  lightening  in  the  far  east,  that  he  did  so,  not 
as  Lance  Carlyon,  but  as  an  atom  in  the  great,  round, 
spinning  world  whose  curved  edge  grew  darker  against 
the  coming  light. 

He  laid  his  gun  beside  him,  and,  kneeling  in  the  soft, 
still  warm  sand,  rested  his  arms  on  the  edge  of  the 
bunker,  ears  and  eyes  alert  as  any  wild  creature's.  He 
could  hear  the  soft  rustle  of  feathers  in  the  dark,  the 
soft  swish  of  the  water  as  something  stirred  in  it,  the 
soft  sob  with  which  an  inch  or  two  of  that  tiny,  unseen 
sand-cliff  gave  way  to  the  stream,  the  softer  gurgle,  as 
of  laughter,  with  which  the  water  took  its  toll  of  earth. 

So,  thinking  not  at  all,  simply  as  a  sand  grain  in  the 
sand  around  him,  the  mystery,  the  certainty  of  dawn 
held  him,  as  it  held  all  things. 

The  curved  line  of  the  world  darkened,  the  shadow  of 
it  deepened,  as  the  grey  of  the  sky  grew  tender  as  the 
eye  of  a  mother  watching  her  child  asleep.  But  only 
for  a  space.  Then  the  grey  hardened,  and  a  trumpet 
call  from  a  whistling  teal  told  that  the  great  fight  of 
dawn  had  come. 

So,  for  another  space,  the  Dark  and  the  Light  faced 
each  other,  waiting  for  that  second  trumpet  call. 


112  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

It  came,  borne  on  a  faint  rustle  of  wind  which  crept 
over  the  edge  of  the  world  from  the  footsteps  of  the  com- 
ing day.  The  shiver  of  it  swept  through  the  shadows ; 
they  broke  intg  battalions  to  face  the  foe.  So  into 
companies,  till,  as  the  red  spear-points  of  the  sun 
showed  over  the  horizon,  they  rallied  darkly,  desper- 
ately, behind  each  hint  of  rising  ground,  in  each  hint  of 
sheltering  hollow.  Rallied  in  vain,'  for  below  the  spear- 
points  a  glittering  curve,  as  of  a  golden  helmet,  came 
resistless. 

Then  Lance  Carlyon  stood  up,  hastily,  gun  in  hand. 
But  he  was  too  late.  The  mystery  of  Dawn  had  held 
him  helpless,  as  it  had  held  the  birds ;  and  now  they, 
too,  were  freemen  of  the  conquering  day. 

He  fired  a  couple  of  shots  after  them,  more  as  a 
salute  to  the  victor  than  in  any  hope  of  slaughter ;  so, 
with  a  laugh,  turned  homeward. 

The  canoe  shot  against  the  stream  gaily,  but,  as  he 
neared  the  spit,  a  sudden  desire  to  go  home  by  land 
assailed  him.  Am-ma  could  take  the  boat  back ;  there 
might  be  a  chance  of  a  snipe,  in  that  low-lying  bit  below 
the  mission  house,  and  — 

He  blushed,  even  in  solitude,  at  his  own  moral 
turpitude.  Why  not  tell  the  truth ;  to  himself,  at 
least } 

He  found  Am-ma,  worn  out  by  his  night's  anxiety, 
with  his  head  between  his  knees,  fast  asleep ;  leaving 
the  crocodile,  at  the  agony  point  of  an  unending  yawn, 
in  sole  charge  of  the  little  circle  of  flickering  lights. 
Some  of  them  had  gone  out,  the  rest  looked  trumpery 
in  the  growing  blaze  of  day.  But  what  matter  ?  Since, 
half  an  hour  before,  Erda  Shepherd  had  come  out  of  the 
wigwam  with  a  living  child,  wrapped  quite  daintily  in 
an  orthodox  square  of  new  flannel. 

"  It  is  a  son,  Am-ma,  and  I  think  it  is  very  like  you," 
she  had  said,  with  a  laugh  at  the  wrinkled,  wizened  old 
face  peering  out  at  its  new  world. 

But  Am-ma  had  grovelled  on  the  ground  with  tears 
and  cries  of  blubbering  joy.     He  had  been  right.     The 


THE  PIVOTS  OF  LIFE  II3 

Htizoors  were  kings.  They  knew  the  Dee-puk-rdg.  They 
were  the  Ught-bringers,  the  life-bringers. 

He  had  never  asked  after  his  wife,  but  when  Erda 
had  gone  inside  again,  he  sat,  and  in  his  anxiety  to 
keep  the  devil  from  those  inside,  had  twitched  away  at 
his  string  so  fiercely  that  the  crocodile's  head  lost  its 
ferocity  in  what  appeared  to  be  a  fit  of  laughter,  until 
sleep,  from  sheer  relief,  overtaking  the  puller,  the  laugh 
had  ended  in  that  steady  yawn. 

Am-ma  was  on  his  feet,  alert  in  a  second,  however, 
at  Lance's  touch,  like  a  wild  beast. 

"'Tis  all  right,  Huzoor,'''  he  grinned  broadly.  " 'Tis 
a  son."  Then  once  again  the  exuberance  of  his  delight 
made  him  grovel  in  the  sand  at  the  feet  of  the  Master. 

"  And  the  M.\s?>-sahiba  ?  Hath  she  gone  .'' "  asked 
Lance,  blushing  once  more,  now  that  his  own  self- 
deception  became  impossible. 

"  Nay,  she  remains  inside,"  asserted  Am-ma.  But  a 
look  which  he  gave  in  the  hut  proved  him  wrong.  She 
must  have  gone  out  the  other  way  while  he  slept,  he 
confessed,  sheepishly ;  but  there  was  nothing  wrong. 
The  devil  had  not  won  a  way  in ;  both  mother  and  son 
were  dozing  peacefully. 

Lance,  his  hope  of  walking  back  with  Erda  gone,  felt 
inclined  to  take  to  the  canoe  again.  Then  a  savage  de- 
sire to  kill  something,  at  least,  suggested  the  possibiHty 
of  a  snipe  in  the  little  swampy  bit  below  the  city  wall, 
not  far  from  the  mission  house ;  so  bidding  Am-ma  take 
the  canoe  up  at  his  leisure,  he  walked  off,  feeling,  for  him, 
in  a  very  bad  temper. 

He  forgot  his  quarrel  with  fate,  however,  in  a  second, 
when,  the  bit  of  swamp  reached,  something  buzzed  up 
to  fall  slantwise  like  a  stone ;  something  which,  on  pick- 
ing it  up,  he  found  to  be  the  rare  Sabine  snipe,  painted, 
absolutely  beautiful,  in  its  delicate  harmony  of  colour. 
And  the  luck  did  not  come  singly,  for  from  behind  a 
clump  of  tiger-grass  came  Erda  Shepherd,  a  trifle 
alarmed  at  the  possibility  of  being  shot  if  she  did  not 
show  herself. 


114  ^-^-^  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

Lance  walked  up  to  her,  swiftly,  the  dead  bird  in  his 
hand.  *'  You  must  be  awfully  tired,  being  up  all  night," 
he  began — 

He  had  a  way  of  rushing  things,  Erda  thought,  which 
was  disconcerting  when  one  was  anxious  to  keep  on  the 
surface.  "And  you  too,  Mr.  Carlyon,"  she  interrupted  ; 
"did  you  enjoy  the  ball }  "  She  felt  pleased  at  this  able 
evasion. 

"  Who  —  I  —  Oh  !  dear  me,  no,"  he  replied,  absently  ; 
then  he  smiled.  "  I  say,  v/asn't  Am-ma  pleased.  He 
slobbered  and  blubbered  with  joy  all  over  my  boots,  and 
yet  — "  he  paused  reflectively,  "I  don't  think  a  little 
Am-ma  could  be  a  very  pleasing  object." 

For  the  life  of  her  she  could  not  help  a  smile.  "  It 
was  not,"  she  confessed  frankly  ;  "  in  fact  I  think  it  was 
the  ugliest  baby  I  ever  saw.  Poor  little  thing,"  she 
added  in  quick  self-reproach.  "  Anyhow  it  seemed  beau- 
tiful to  them  —  it  is  the  first  —  the  first  that  has  lived,  I 
mean."  She  pulled  up  short,  wondering  what  possessed 
her  to  be  so  confidential  with  this  strange  young  man. 

"  So  Am-ma  told  me,"  said  Lance.  "He  called  you 
the  Life-bringer.     It  is  a  nice  name." 

She  fought  against  the  tenderness  in  his  tone.  "  And 
you  are  the  Death-bringer,"  she  retorted  lightly,  point- 
ing to  the  painted  beauty  in  his  hand.  "  So  you  and  I 
are  at  opposite  poles,  Mr.  Carlyon." 

He  stood  looking  at  her  for  a  moment  with  a  smile. 
"I  don't  know,  Miss  Shepherd.  ^ Death  and  Birth  are 
the  pivots  of  the  Wheel  of  Life!  I  remember  reading 
that,  in  Sanskrit,  when  I  went  up  for  my  higher ;  for 
I've  passed  it,  you  know.  I'm  really  not  bad  at  languages 
when  I  try." 

It  was  the  first  time  she  had  ever  heard  him  claim 
credit  for  anything,  and  the  fact  touched  her  more  than 
she  cared  to  own.  Touched  her  so  closely  that  she 
sought  instantly  for  cover. 

"  I  wish  I  were,"  she  said,  moving  on,  though,  as  she 
had  known  he  would,  he  moved  on  also.  "  I'm  afraid 
I  shall  find  it  a  great  trouble  having  to  learn  a  new  one." 


THE  PIVOTS  OF  LIFE  II5 

"A  new  one,"  he  echoed  quickly,  in  reponse  to  some- 
thing in  her  voice.  **  Are  you  going  to  leave  Eshwara 
—  soon?" 

She  paused  for  a  moment  ere  replying.  *'  Sooner  than 
I  expected,  Mr.  Carlyon  ;  most  likely  in  a  day  or  two. 
I  don't  know  whether  you  have  heard,"  she  continued, 
looking  him  in  the  face,  "  but  I  am  engaged  to  be  mar- 
ried to  my  cousin  —  Dr.  Campbell's  son  —  David  Camp- 
bell. He  is  a  missionary  —  as  I  am — and  —  "  she 
hesitated.  **  He  is  at  home,  —  or  was.  We  did  not  ex- 
pect him  back  for  two  months,  but  he  has  had  a  good 
offer  of  a  splendid  place  where  there  is  any  amount  of 
work  to  be  done.  The  letter  telling  us  this  came  yester- 
day—  by  the  same  mail  as — as  he  did.  He  is  travel- 
ling up  country  now;  and  then  —  " 

"  And  then  }  "  said  Lance,  quietly.  With  his  gun  over 
his  shoulder,  he  looked  what  he  was,  a  soldier  ;  and  since 
she  began  to  speak,  he  had,  insensibly,  pulled  himself 
together  and  fallen  into  a  disciplined  ordered  tread. 

"  My  aunt  wants  the  wedding  to  be  from  the  mission 
station  in  the  low  hills  where  they  go  every  summer," 
went  on  the  girl.  She  was  trying  not  to  look  at  her 
companion,  not  out  of  pity,  but  from  dread  of  her  own 
admiration.  "So  as  David  "  — she  felt  better  after  the 
semi-appropriation  of  the  Christian  name  — "  is  in  a 
hurry  to  start,  she  thought  of  going  there  as  soon  as  the 
camp  leaves — in  a  day  or  two.  So — so — we  shall  not  see 
very  much  more  of  each  other,  Mr.  Carlyon;  shall  we.?" 

He  gave  her  his  first  look  of  reproach,  being  unable, 
in  his  absolutely  honest  humility,  to  conceive  of  the 
vague  regret  which  forced  her  to  the  useless  appeal. 

"I  —  I  hope  you  will  be  very  happy,"  he  said,  quite 
simply.  "  Take  care,  please  ;  that  bit  is  boggier  than  you 
think."  For  the  second  time  in  their  short  acquaintance 
she  felt  his  hand,  not  as  a  friend's,  but  as  a  helper,  a 
protector.     This  time  the  blood  left  her  face  pale. 

"  I  hope  so,  Mr.  Carlyon,"  she  replied,  and  her  hands 
clasped  themselves  tightly  as  if  to  hold  some  resolve. 
"  It  is  what  I  have  always  hoped  for,  thought  of."    Then 


Il6  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

suddenly  she  smiled  at  him  almost  appealingly.     "  I  am 
a  bit  of  a  soldier  too,  you  know  —  I  love  the  fighting." 

"You  are  in  the  thick  of  it  here,  anyhow,"  he  inter- 
rupted, pausing. 

They  had  climbed  by  a  flight  of  steps  through  the  city 
wall  into  the  small  courtyard  on  which  the  mission 
house,  which  had  once  been  an  outpost  of  the  Fort, 
opened  on  its  inner  side.  The  outer,  with  its  wide  over- 
hanging verandah,  forming  part  of  the  actual  city  wall. 
But  the  remainder  of  the  courtyard  was  set  round  by  a 
perfect  congeries  of  small  temples,  each  rearing  its  up- 
right stone  spire  —  the  stone  of  Baal  worship  —  about 
the  central  tank  which  occupied  the  middle  of  the  square. 
It  was  quite  a  small  tank,  and  absolutely  dry  ;  so  that 
you  could  see  the  four  or  five  worn  stone  steps  which 
led  down  to  the  patch  of  earth,  not  six  feet  square,  at 
the  bottom.  A  dozen  or  more  children,  boys  and  girls 
of  the  streets,  were  playing  a  sort  of  hop-scotch  on  these 
steps,  and  as  Lance  looked,  one  of  them  slipped  and  fell 
into  that  patch  of  earth.  In  a  second  the  others  had 
quitted  their  game,  and  fallen  pell-mell,  too,  struggling, 
kicking,  shouting,  screaming  with  laughter. 

"Is  it  a  game.?"  he  asked,  looking  at  his  companion,' 
amused. 

"  Yes ! "  she  said,  suddenly,  her  face  stern  as  he  had 
seen  it  that  first  time  he  met  her.  "  It  is  the  game  of 
Life  and  Death  !  That  is  the  *  Pool  of  Immortality,' 
Mr.  Carlyon  !  The  pilgrims  come  here  to  bathe — there 
must  be  a  secret  siphon  somewhere,  for  the  water  only 
comes  when  it  is  wanted.  Three  years  ago  the  barriers 
put  up  to  prevent  accidents  gave  way  —  it  was  no  one's 
fault.  The  crowd  got  in  —  a  man  slipped  —  and  —  and 
when  the  police  managed  to  clear  the  crush  —  the  —  the 
tank  was  full  up  with  dead  bodies  !  The  children  play 
at  it  now  !  " 

But  they  had  spied  more  amusement,  and  in  another 
second  were  hanging  round  Erda's  skirts. 

"Sing  to  us,  Miss-sahibay  —  sing  to  us  before  you 
go  in." 


WHEELS    WITHIN   WHEELS  WJ 

She  looked  apologetically  at  Lance.  "  I  generally 
do,"  she  began. 

He  raised  his  cap,  almost  obediently,  with  a  brief 
"Certainly,"  and  passed  on ;  but  as  he  left  the  court  on 
his  way  to  the  Fort,  the  first  note  of  her  voice  made  him 
turn,  for  a  second,  to  look. 

She  was  seated  on  the  top  step  of  the  tank,  the  chil- 
dren grouped  inquisitively  round  her,  and  she  held  her 
head  high  —  almost  defiantly. 

"  The  Son  of  God  goes  forth  to  wary 
Who  follows  in  His  train  ?  " 

The  words  were  distinctly  audible,  following  him  as 
he  passed  on,  the  gun  on  his  shoulder,  the  dead  bird  in 
his  hand,  and  something  between  blessing  and  cursing 
in  his  heart.  But  above  and  through  all,  he  seemed  to 
hear  a  never-ceasing  voice  that  said,  "  The  pivots  of  Life 
are  Birth  and  Death.     Death  and  Birth.'* 


CHAPTER   XI 

WHEELS   WITHIN   WHEELS 

"  Half  a  minute,  Dillon  ! "  said  the  Commissioner 
abruptly,  as  the  doctor,  ushered  in  by  a  scarlet-sin- 
stain  of  an  orderly,  entered  the  tent  where  the  former 
was  working.     "  I  must  attend  to  these  gentlemen  first." 

These  gentlemen  were  Dya  Ram,  Ramanund,  and  a 
third  very  different  sort  of  person,  obtrusively  Hindoo 
in  face,  figure,  attire. 

The  Commissioner's  manner,  as  he  returned  to  the 
business  in  hand,  changed  from  careless  familiarity  to 
an  elaborate  courtesy. 

"I  quite  viYidQrst2iX\di, pundit-sahib y''  he  said  in  English 
to  Ramanund,  "  that  you  are,  as  you  say,  actuated  by  no 
personal  motive.  A  man  of  your  attainments  and  cul- 
ture can  scarcely  feel  a  keen  interest  in  jogi  Gorakh- 


Il8  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

ndth's  —  that  is  the  name,  I  think  —  domicile  in  a  gun 
barrel ! " 

The  sarcasm  was  lost  on  the  hearer,  who  smiled,  satis- 
fied. "Quite  so,  sir,"  he  replied.  "It  is  merely,  as 
my  friend  Dya  Ram  postulates,  a  question  as  to  the 
legality  —  " 

The  Commissioner  interrupted  him  suavely.  "In 
that  case  it  is  a  matter  for  the  courts,  surely." 

"  Unless  your  Honour  should,  as  magistrate,  act 
under  Section  418  providing  for  emergencies,"  began 
Dya  Ram ;  whereat  the  official  sat  back  in  his  chair 
resignedly. 

"  Of  course,"  he  answered,  his  brogue  running  riot, 
as  it  always  did,  when  he  was  contemptuous,  "I  have 
that  power.  But  do  ye  really  think,  sir,  that  this  pres- 
ent matter  is  of  such  paramount  importance  to  the  sta- 
bility of  the  British  Empire,  that  I  should  be  justified  in 
running  counter  to  the  ordinary  course  of  law  and 
justice } "  Here  the  futility  of  his  own  sarcasm  seemed 
to  come  home  to  him.  He  paused  to  consult  a  file,  and 
when  he  looked  up  again,  he  spoke  in  Hindustani  — 
evidently  for  the  benefit  of  the  third  party.  "  There  is 
no  record  whatever,"  he  said  briefly,  "  of  any  previous 
claim  to  the  gun.  It  has  been  worshipped,  of  course ; 
but  that  is  a  different  matter.  The  military  power  has 
no  intention  of  interfering  with  this  habit.  I  may  add 
that  a  counter  petition,  praying  me  not  to  allow  appeal 
on  the  ground  that  this  jogi  is  a  man  of  ill  fame,  and  a 
public  nuisance,  has  been  filed  by  the  mohunt  (guardian 
of  shrines)  at  the  Pool  of  Immortality." 

The  obtrusively  Hindoo  figure  which  had  remained 
standing,  though  his  companions  were  seated,  here 
folded  his  hands  as  if  in  prayer,  leant  forward,  and 
began  garrulously :  — 

^'HiLzoorl  it  is  malice  —  malice  of  hereditary  nature. 
They  hope  to  gain  money  —  " 

"Exactly,  Mohunt-jee ;  your  money!  if  the  pilgrims 
haven't  the  attraction  of  a  live  man  in  a  gun  close  to 
your   shrine  your   trade   will   suffer,"  interrupted   the 


WHEELS   WITHIN  WHEELS  II9 

Commissioner,  with  brutal  truth.  **  I  am  afraid  I  can  do 
nothing.  Of  course,"  he  continued,  reverting  to  Eng- 
hsh,  "  if  you  bring  a  suit  to  claim  prescriptive  right,  you 
may,"  here  his  patience  gave  way  finally,  "  but  God  bless 
my  soul,  gentlemen  !  Surely  men  like  you  have  some- 
thing better  to  do  than  bolster  up  your  countrymen  in  a 
preposterous  business  like  this  !  " 

"  Pardon  me,  sir,"  protested  Dya  Ram,  litigiously, 
"but  if  it  is  prescriptive  right,  vested  in  citizens, 
then  —  " 

"Then,  sir!"  interrupted  the  stern,  high  voice,  "the 
British  Empire  will  have  no  choice  but  to  allow  jogi 
Gorakh-nath  to  be  a  son-of-a-gun  till  the  day  of  his 
death!  So  good-morning  to  you;  unless  — "  here  the 
suavity  returned  in  full  force  —  "  there  is  any  other  sub- 
ject you  wish  to  bring  forward." 

There  was  not,  apparently ;  and  as  the  trio  were  ush- 
ered out,  the  Commissioner  sat  still  further  back  in  his 
chair,  tilting  it  with  his  feet  against  the  table,  and  ran 
his  fingers  through  his  hair  in  an  exasperated  fashion. 

"Ton  my  soul,  it's  inconceivable,"  he  said;  then, 
reaching  forward,  took  up  a  newspaper  that  was  lying 
on  the  table,  and  began  to  read. 

^^  If  we  are  asked  zvhat  we,  the  educated  natives  of 
India,  claim ,  we  reply  boldly,  all  things  that  English- 
men of  eqnal  culture  possess  by  right  of  birth.  We 
refuse  flatly  to  be  lumped  in  with  the  crass  ignoraitce  of 
our  fellozu-countrymen  who  have,  alas  I  not  yet  risen  to 
a  pitch  of  desiring  that  liberty  of  which  John  Stuart 
Mill  speaks  in  such  glowing  terms  in  his  valuable 
pamphlet  y 

"  Hark  to  that,  now ! "  he  commented,  flinging  the 
paper  back.  "That's  Mr.  Dya  Ram's  last,  and  it  goes 
on,  as  per  usual,  to  abuse.  They  asked  me  to  put  a 
name  to  it,  and  I've  just  been  telling  the  confidential 
department  that,  barring  a  horrible  misuse  of  synonym, 
there's  no  sedition,  no  harm  in  it  whatever !  And  there 
isn't,  Dillon.  The  son-of-a-gun  business  is  ten  times  as 
dangerous.     Dering's  within  his  rights,  but  I  wish  to 


120  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

blazes  he'd  left  the  brute  alone ;  or  he  might  have  put  a 
blank  cartridge  in  and  fired  a  salute  by  mistake  when 
Gorakh-nath  was  inside  !  But  ye  can't  keep  the  military 
in  subjection.  The  department's  aimin'  at  a  fight,  and 
small  blame  to  it !  I'm  spoiling  for  one  myself  this 
instant  moment ;  so  come  along,  doctor,  an'  let  me  hear 
what  your  criminals  have  to  say.  There's  a  pretty  sheaf 
of  complaints  for  ye,  ye  hard-hearted  murderin'  slave 
driver ! " 

He  took  up  a  bulky  file  of  papers  as  he  spoke,  and 
passed  them  to  an  orderly  in  exchange  for  his  hat,  which 
the  man  held  ready. 

"  Yes  !  it's  pretty  good,"  assented  the  doctor,  placidly, 
as,  keeping  step,  the  two  passed  out  of  the  tent,  so 
down  the  palm  avenue  towards  the  gaol,  which  the  Com- 
missioner was  going  to  inspect.  "  It  comes  of  their  being 
idle.  Wait  till  I  get  them  digging  again.  I'll  work  the 
mischief  out  of  them.  When  are  we  going  on ;  and  where .'' " 

His  companion  shook  his  head.  *' Can't  get  an 
answer  out  of  the  Public  Works.  Is  there  anything 
you  would  like  done,  meanwhile.-^" 

Dr.  Dillon  laughed  sardonically.  "Pretty  considerable, 
rather !  Only  it  would  take  months  to  get  sanction. 
But,  if  you  pass  it.  Smith  says  he  could  put  a  wire  on 
from  the  Fort  easily  in  a  day.  It  would  save  sending  by 
road  if  there  was  trouble,  and  the  great  thing  is  to  hit 
back  as  quick  as  you  can.     The  mutiny  taught  us  that." 

"Ay,"  said  the  Commissioner,  musingly,  "that's  the 
straight  tip ;  and  that's  why  steam  and  electricity  rule 
India.  One  can  be  ready  without  letting  people  know. 
If  that  had  been  the  case  in  the  mutiny  —  "  he  shrugged 
his  shoulders,  then  went  on — "these  things  come  so 
easily ;  a  touch  starts  them ;  but  you  mustn't  show  that 
you  know  it.  Still,  if  you  thought  there  would  be  any 
difficulty  —  I  mean  if  you  mightn't  be  able  to  hold  your 
own  till  they  came  from  the  Fort  —  we  might  make  some 
excuse  for  quartering  a  troop  closer." 

Dr.  Dillon  shook  his  head.  "  It  isn't  worth  it.  I  be- 
lieve myself  they'll  settle  down  when  that  big  brute. 


WHEELS   WITHIN  WHEELS  121 

Gopi,  I  told  you  about,  gets  his  ticket  to-morrow.  If  I 
didn't  want  to  get  rid  of  him  Fd  put  him  in  cells  for 
six  weeks.  And  there's  a  warder,  too,  —  or  perhaps 
more.  But  there's  no  fear.  I  could  hold  the  whole 
*  biz '  myself,  till  the  brutes  managed  to  get  off  their  leg 
irons,  and  as  I  keep  every  tool  extra  mural,  I  don't  be- 
lieve there's  a  bit  of  iron  within  the  walls  —  except  the 
shackles  themselves.  So  I  should  have  an  hour  or  two, 
anyhow  —  " 

*'  Now,  here  you  are,"  he  continued,  with  pardonable 
pride,  as  they  passed  under  the  mud  archway  which  led 
into  the  gaol ;  a  long  archway  with  a  massive  door  at 
either  end,  tunnelling  a  square  block  of  flat-roofed  build- 
ing. ''  You'll  find  everything  spick  and  span,  I  can  tell 
you,  for  I've  been  making  the  beggars  polish  their  own 
leg  irons,  so  as  to  keep  'em  a  bit  busy." 

It  was,  indeed,  spick  and  span,  as  only  an  Indian  gaol 
can  be,  where  everything,  including  the  prisoners'  beds, 
is  freshly  mud-plastered  every  week.  Spick  and  span 
in  a  mere  monotony  of  mud  and  lack  of  colour.  The 
prisoners,  fifteen  hundred  of  them  or  more,  stood  in  four 
long,  straight  rows,  naked  save  for  their  waistcloths  and 
the  eared  caps  on  their  shaven  heads ;  their  blankets, 
folded  to  a  small  square  under  their  feet,  giving  them  a 
strangely  wooden  appearance,  as  if  they  stood  on  stands, 
like  the  figures  in  Noah's  ark. 

A  couple  of  policemen  fell  out  and  drew  their  trun- 
cheons to  walk  close  behind  the  Commissioner ;  but  Dr. 
Dillon  waved  his  pair  back. 

*'  Never  show  you  expect  anything,"  he  said  laconi- 
cally, *'and  as  I've  always  refused  a  guard,  I  can't  take 
one  now." 

Nor  was  there  any  apparent  need  for  one.  Some  faces 
scowled  at  him,  but  most  were  occupied  with  the  Com- 
missioner, who,  when  a  prisoner  raised  his  hand,  paused 
to  take  the  written  petition  which,  nine  times  out  of  ten, 
was  ready  for  presentation. 

"  There  must  be  a  good  many  warders  in  it,"  remarked 
the  Commissioner,  dryly.     And  the  doctor  nodded. 


122  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

"  Now  there's  only  the  hospital,"  said  the  latter,  when 
the  solitary  cells  had  been  inspected,  the  cook  room  in- 
terviewed, and  the  dinner  to  come  tasted.  **  It  won't 
take  you  long.  There  was  only  one  case  in  this 
morning." 

But  as  they  entered  the  long  open  ward,  like  a  cloister, 
mud-plast-ered  as  all  else,  but  with  iron  beds  looking 
strangely  at  variance  with  their  surroundings,  two  of 
these  were  occupied,  and  at  one,  a  hospital  dresser  was 
standing,  looking  somewhat  scared. 

Dr.  Dillon  gave  a  hasty  exclamation  as  he  stepped  up 
to  the  bed  and  looked  at  the  sick  man. 

"  When  did  he  come  in  } "  he  asked  briefly. 

**Ten  minutes  ago,  Huzoor ;  the  baboo  hath  given 
him—  " 

''Never  mind  what  he  hath  given  him,"  interrupted 
the  doctor,  holding  up  his  hand  in  warning,  "go  on  with 
it,  and  tell  the  baboo-sahib  to  come  to  me  for  orders  —  at 
once.  Now  then,  sir,  that's  all  —  and  a  bit  too  much 
too  —  "  he  added  in  a  lower  voice,  as  they  passed  out 
together,  "for  it's  a  case  of  cholera." 

The  Commissioner  looked  grave.  "That  will  compli- 
cate matters,  won't  it } " 

"Can't  say.  You  never  can  tell.  They  may  take  it  as  a 
dispensation,  or  there  may  never  be  another  case.  That 
fellow's  done  for,  anyhow  —  he'll  be  dead  in  an  hour." 

"  That's  quick,  isn't  it }  "  asked  his  companion,  calmly. 

"  Rather.  I've  seen  a  man  go  out  in  ten  minutes, 
though.  The  worst  of  it  is,"  he  added,  with  a  frown,  "  if 
there  really  is  some  conspiracy  at  the  bottom  of  the  dis- 
content, it  is  as  likely  as  not  the  devils  who  are  work- 
ing it,  may  take  advantage  of  this  —  I  don't  mean  of 
this  death  —  that  goes  without  saying.  But  when 
cholera  is  about,  poison  is  hard  to  detect,  and  even 
if  I  stamp  out  the  disease,  which  I  mean  to  do,  they 
may  simulate  it."  He  bit  at  his  thumbnail  viciously  as 
he  strode  on,  thinking  and  muttering.  "  By  God  !  "  he 
murmured,  "if  I  could  catch  'em  at  it!  However,"  he 
added  aloud,  "  it's  no  good  fussing.     If  the  thing  comes, 


WHEELS    WITHIN   WHEELS  1 23 

it  comes,  and  I've  kept  you  here  too  long  as  it  is,  sir. 
Do  you  know  it's  close  on  half-past  ten  ? " 

"Be  jabers ! "  exclaimed  the  Commissioner,  "only 
twenty  minutes  to  bathe,  shave,  breakfast,  and  put  on 
me  gold  lace  continuations.  Well,  ta,  ta !  I'll  see  you 
at  the  show,  of  course." 

Dr.  Dillon  looked  puzzled  for  an  instant ;  the  puzzle- 
dom  of  a  man  whose  thoughts  are  recalled  from  afar. 
"The  show  t  Oh,  yes  !  I  was  forgetting.  Rather,  sir. 
Why !  it  is  as  much  my  canal  as  Smith's,  for  we've 
done  every  inch  of  it  together ;  besides,  I  have  got  to 
drive  his  wife  down." 

"Where  the  deuce  is  Dering.?"  asked  the  Commis- 
sioner, quite  ingenuously ;  but  George  Dillon  flushed 
up.     It  was  visible  even  under  his  leather-like  tan. 

"  I  really  can't  say,  sir ;  otherwise  engaged,  I  pre- 
sume." 

His  elder  turned  to  him,  surprised,  yet  with  instant 
apology.  "I'm  sorry;  I  shouldn't  have  said  it;  but  I 
really  meant  nothing." 

Dr.  Dillon  gave  a  dry,  sardonic  laugh.  "  Oh !  it  is 
all  right,  sir.  I  quite  believe  you  didn't.  Nobody  does 
mean  anything  in  that  sort  of  connection.  It's  left  for 
the  doctors  to  face  facts  as  they  are  really  ;  and  then 
you  call  us  brutal."  He  turned  back,  as  he  spoke,  to 
the  hospital. 

Half  an  hour  afterwards,  however,  having  in  the  interim 
provided  for  every  contingency  he  could  foresee,  includ- 
ing the  bare  possibility  of  his  carrying  infection,  he 
appeared  in  Mrs.  Smith's  drawing-room,  looking  —  for 
him — quite  smart  and  spruce;  since,  as  he  had  said, 
this  end  to  three  years'  work  was  an  event  in  his  life 
also. 

He  found  her,  dressed  in  her  daintiest,  in  a  rocking- 
chair  ;  and  as  he  entered,  his  quick  trained  ear  took  in 
the  petulance  of  the  recurring  push  of  one  daintily  shod 
foot.  The  room  was  darkened,  and  full  of  the  scent  of 
flowers.  It  was  a  familiar  room  to  him,  yet  he  never 
entered  it  without  a  glad  recognition  of  the  extreme 


124  ^-^^  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

feminine  refinement  shown  in  its  every  detail;  for  its 
mistress  was  one  of  those  women  whose  fragility  comes 
less  from  physical  delicacy  than  from  sensitiveness  of 
mind. 

She  was  leaning  back  in  her  chair  listlessly ;  yet  the 
white  ringed  hands  which  clasped  the  fair  curls  on  her 
forehead  showed  an  almost  passionate  strain  of  muscle. 

"  I  believe  you'll  have  to  go  without  me,"  she  said,  as 
he  approached,  "  I've  such  a  racking  headache.  I  don't 
believe  I  can  face  it  — I'm  sure  I  can't." 

He  passed  on  to  her  side,  and  laid  his  hand  on  one  of 
hers  for  an  instant,  while  his  quick  eye  took  in  the  de- 
tails around  him.  A  note  had  slipped  from  her  lap  to 
the  floor.  It  lay  face  up,  and  the  words  "Dear  Mrs. 
Smith,  so  sorry  — "  showed  in  Vincent  Bering's  writ- 
ing. So,  not  content  with  the  message  of  excuse  sent 
her  by  the  offender  through  him,  she  must  have  written  ! 
That  was  a  dangerous  development  of  the  situation.  He 
stood  looking  down  at  her  indulgently,  as  he  might  on  a 
fractious  child  who  did  not  understand.  And  she  did 
not  —  poor  soul ! 

"  You're  nervous,"  he  said.  "  Let  me  give  you  half  a 
whiskey-and-soda  before  we  start.  It'll  make  you  all 
right." 

"Nervous!"  she  echoed  irritably,  her  foot  setting  her 
chair  a-swing  to  match  her  tone.  "  I'm  never  nervous — 
you  know  that  is  not  one  of  my  failings  —  is  it } " 

"  No,"  he  replied,  "  but  you  are  a  bundle  of  nerves  for 
all  that.  You  wouldn't  be  the  woman  you  are  if  you 
weren't.  And  you  are  nervous  at  this  moment.  Ner- 
vous, despondent,  out  of  heart.  Come!  make  an  ef- 
fort!" 

She  gave  a  petulant  little  giggle  of  impatience.  "You 
speak  as  if  I  were  a  Mrs.  Dombey  ;  but  I'm  not  that 
sort.  Besides,  it  killed  her.  I  am  not  coming.  It  doesn't 
really  matter,  you  know ;  nobody  will  miss  me  —  it  will 
be  all  right." 

George  Dillon,  watching  her,  felt  sorry,  for  once,  at 
the  correctness  of  his  own  diagnosis.     He  knew  her  so 


WHEELS    WITHIN  WHEELS  12$ 

well  that  it  seemed  imperative  to  give  her  a  hint  of  the 
reality.  The  danger  of  a  final  ^claircissement  with  Cap- 
tain Bering  seemed  imminent,  and  the  shock  of  it  might 
lead  to  anything,  if  the  knowledge  of  her  own  weakness 
came  to  her  in  the  presence  of  the  man  she  had  cheated 
herself  into  calHng  a  friend. 

"  Your  husband  would.  It  is  a  great  day  for  him,"  he 
said,  laying  his  dexterous  surgeon's  hand  full  on  the 
raw.  As  he  expected,  the  answer  came  passionately, 
and  gave  him  an  opening. 

'*  He  !  O,  he  is  quite  happy  as  it  is  !  He  wouldn't 
miss  me  a  bit.  Why  should  he  }  I  am  not  complaining, 
mind  you  —  but  why  should  he.?  He  has  interests 
enough  without  me." 

Dr.  Dillon  deliberately  sought  for  the  nearest  chair, 
drew  it  close,  and  sat  down  beside  his  patient  in  profes- 
sional fashion,  his  eyes  on  her  face,  his  hands  on  his 
knees. 

"My  dear  lady,"  he  said,  "don't  talk  —  excuse  me — 
rubbish.  Try  and  remember  what  women  are  always 
forgetting  —  that  they  are  women,  and  that,  while  Eve 
swallowed  her  portion  of  the  fatal  apple,  his  stuck  — 
thank  God  for  it !  —  in  Adam's  throat." 

She  ceased  her  rocking,  to  sit  and  stare  at  him  with 
a  growing  resentment,  which  belied  the  words  that  came 
at  last,  almost  sullenly. 

"I  don't  understand  what  you  mean  in  the  very  least. 
What  has  Eve's  apple  to  do  with  —  my  headache  } " 

"  A  very  great  deal,"  he  answered  coolly,  "  and  with 
more  than  your  headache,  which,  by  the  way,  is  only  a 
symptom,  not  a  cause.  The  real  evil  is  — is  something 
different.  If  you  do  not  understand  —  though  I  think 
you  do  a  little  — "  she  shook  her  head  —  "I  can  only 
repeat  my  advice  about  the  whiskey-and-soda  ;  for  I  can- 
not explain  to  you  crudely  what  I  mean." 

She  interrupted  him  angrily.  "  You  have  no  right  to 
hint  at  things  you  dare  not  say." 

Her  very  indignation  betrayed  her,  and  he  smiled 
kindly.     "  Perhaps  not,"  he  said.     Then  he  paused,  hes- 


126  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

itated,  finally  leant  aearer,  with  a  look  of  resolve  in  his 
queer,  intelligent  face.  *'  But  I  will  tell  you  what  I  can 
do.  I  can  sacrifice  my  self-respect  and  tell  you  a  bit  of 
my  personal  history  which  I  never  meant  you  to  know, 
but  which  may  help  to  cure — your  headache."  His  voice, 
usually  so  dry,  had  a  softness  in  it,  though  he  went  on 
without  the  faintest  emotion.  "Mrs.  Smith,  I  have 
done  myself  the  honour  for  nearly  three  years,  of  consid- 
ering you  as  near  perfection  as  a  woman  can  be.  Allow 
me  to  finish,  please  !  I  have  done  more.  I  have  been, 
as  the  phrase  runs,  in  love  with  my  ideal  of  perfection  ; 
but  I  think  you  will  admit  that  I  have  never  allowed  my 
feelings  to  give  you,  myself,  or  anyone  else  a  —  shall  we 
say,  a  nervous  headache  t  Now,  after  that,  don't  you 
think  we  had  better  start } " 

He  rose  in  quite  a  matter-of-fact  way,  took  up  his 
hat,  and  waited  for  her  answer. 

He  had  to  wait  some  time,  while  the  petulance  of  her 
renewed  rocking  ceased  gradually  in  a  determined 
rhythm,  and  he  felt  his  courage  going  down  to  his  boots. 
It  was  heroic  treatment,  but  she  was  a  healthy  subject, 
and  her  anger  would  pass.  Anything  was  better  than 
letting  her  perfection  suffer. 

The  even  creak  of  the  rocker  ended  at  last,  and  she 
rose,  as  he  had  risen,  calmly,  and  faced  him. 

"  I  quite  understand  now  what  you  meant.  Dr.  Dil- 
lon," she  said  freezingly,  *'and  why  you  did  not  care  to 
explain.  I  shall,  of  course,  never  be  able  to  forgive  you 
for  daring  to  dream  such  a  thing  possible,  but — " 

"  But,"  he  interrupted,  without  a  quiver,  "  you  will 
take  that  half  whiskey-and-soda.  Here!  qid-hi !  Whis- 
key shardb  beldtee  pani  la'o  juldi;  niem-sahiba  jata  hai. 
(Bring  whiskey-and-soda;  the  mem  is  going.)" 

Perhaps  the  command  of  that  assertion  helped  her  to 
a  decision.  At  any  rate  she  did  not  countermand  it,  but 
spent  the  rather  awkward  pause  which  inevitably  ensued 
in  a  perfect  field-day  of  her  hat-pins  among  her  curls  and 
veil.  Whereat  George  Dillon,  despite  a  certain  bruised 
feeling,  smiled,  telling  himself  she  was  a  true  woman. 


WHEELS   WITHIN   WHEELS  12/ 

Nevertheless  when,  as  she  was  stepping  into  the  dog- 
cart, his  friendly  help  came  necessarily  to  the  fore  again, 
she  reverted  to  her  dignified  resentment.  "  I  ought," 
she  said  stiffly,  "to  have  thanked  you  for  —  for  your 
good  opinion  of  me,  and  your  evident  desire  to  be  kind. 
I  do  so  now.  But  I  fear  it  will  be  quite  impossible  for 
me  to  forget  or  forgive  the  delusion." 

''That  is  quite  a  minor  matter,"  he  put  in,  gleefully. 
"  Now,  cheer  up,  Bacilla,  you  brute,  or  we  shall  be  late," 
Bacilla  being  his  term  of  abuse  for  a  pony  which  required 
a  little  stick. 

They  were  only  just  in  time,  no  more.  Five  minutes 
after  they  had  joined  the  company  gathered  on  the  red- 
brick masonry  of  the  canal  head,  under  a  canopy  of 
waving  garlands  and  gay  bunting,  with  that  inevitable 
British  flag  as  the  centre  of  all,  the  small  man  with  the 
big  star  on  his  breast  took  a  step  forward,  raised  a 
handle,  and,  as  the  first  drops  of  water  trickled  through 
a  sluice,  declared,  in  a  violent  Scotch  accent,  "■  that  the 
Victoria-Kaiser-i-Hind"  canal  was  open.  So,  keeping 
time  as  it  were,  slowly,  majestically,  to  those  (also  inevi- 
table) strains  of  "  God  save  the  Queen,"  the  outer  flood- 
gates swung  back,  allowing  the  river  to  have  permanent 
possession  during  good  behaviour,  of  the  walled  basin 
between  them  and  the  inner  ones.  Thus,  slowly,  with  a 
gurgling  of  water  seeking  its  level,  the  surface  rose  till 
the  half-open  sluices  in  the  second  gates  were  reached, 
and  a  thin  curve  tipped  over  to  fall  with  a  splash,  and 
send  a  tiny  scout  of  a  stream  to  find  out  what  this  new 
straight  road  might  mean.  Only  a  tiny  scout,  since  the 
earthworks  beyond  had  to  be  accustomed  by  degrees  to 
their  new  tenant. 

Still  the  new  way  was  open,  and  the  current  of  the 
river  hesitated  in  the  old  one. 

"  Bravo,  Smith  !  "  cried  George  Dillon,  coming  round, 
when  the  cheering  and  general  congratulations  were 
over,  to  slap  his  colleague  on  the  back,  metaphorically 
and  actually.  "  We've  done  that ;  and  now  perhaps,  old 
man,  you'll  have  time  for  other  things." 


128  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

"  Yes,"  assented  the  tall,  gaunt  man,  dreamily  ;  "now 
I  shall  have  time  to  settle  that  point  about  the  search- 
light." 

"The  what?" 

"  Search-light.  There's  been  a  correspondence  in  the 
Engineer  about  it ;  and  as  I've  all  the  electric  plant 
here,  lying  useless,  now  the  show's  over,  —  until  it's 
wanted  for  something  else,  of  course,  —  I  am  going  to 
see  if  I  can't  overcome  their  difficulty  in  concentrating 
all  the  power  on  a  sufficiently  narrow  area.  I  believe 
I  know  how  to  do  it." 

George  Dillon  looked  at  him  with  fierce,  humorous 
exasperation.  "  Believe  !  "  he  echoed.  "  I  know  you 
can !  You  are  the  most  intolerably  circumscribed,  self- 
concentrated,  narrow-minded  machine  of  a  man  I  ever 
came  across.     Heaven  help  you  !  " 

As  he  drove  Mrs.  Smith  home  again,  it  was  his  turn 
to  sit  mumchance  until,  womanlike,  she  relented  faintly, 
and,  exaggerating  her  own  powers,  trusted  she  had  not 
been,  etc.,  though  of  course,  etc. — 

"  Not  in  the  least,  thank  you,"  he  replied.  "  I  was 
only  meditating  if  I  should  tell  you  that  I  think  Eugene 
has  softening  of  the  brain." 

"  Softening  of  the  brain ! "  she  echoed,  horrified. 
"Oh,  doctor,  do  you  think  it's  that.?" 

"Well,  it  isn't  softening  of  the  heart,  anyhow,"  he 
said  grimly.  "  But  I'm  not  joking.  If  someone  doesn't 
get  a  hold  on  some  portion  of  that  man  —  I  don't  care 
what  it  is  —  heart,  brain,  stomach,  anything — and  pre- 
vent him  from  killing  himself  with  work,  India  will  lose 
her  best  engineer.  What  he  wants  is  someone  to — to 
give  him  a  nervous  headache  !  " 

"We  will  leave  that  subject  alone,  please,"  she  said 
loftily ;  but  when  her  husband  joined  them  in  the 
verandah,  she  went  over  ostentatiously  to  him  and 
pinned  a  carnation  in  his  buttonhole,  hoping  he  would 
like  it  better  than  the  rose  she  gave  him  the  day  be- 
fore, which  —  this  was  in  a  louder  tone  for  the  doctor's 
benefit  —  he  had  forgotten  to  put  in  ! 


THE   CHURCH  MILITANT  1 29 

"  Did  I,  my  dear  ?  "  replied  her  spouse.  "  Oh,  yes  1 
I  remember  you  put  it  in  my  minim  glass  because  I 
was  working  in  my  shirt-sleeves.  Then  I  wanted  the 
glass.     So  it  got  withered  and  the  head  snapped  off." 

Dr.  Dillon  laughed  —  his  usual  dry  laugh.  **That 
is  one  of  the  many  tragedies  which  come  from  the  de- 
lusion all  women  have  that  flowers  can't  be  out  of 
place." 

CHAPTER  XII 

THE    CHURCH   MILITANT 

When  Roshan  Khan  had  joined  those  two  great  sta- 
bilities, Faith  and  Love,  into  one  passionate  desire  for 
Vincent  Dering's  damnation,  he  had  meant  to  follow 
the  English  etiquette  on  such  occasions,  and  keep  his 
aspiration  to  himself. 

But  it  had  been  impossible  for  him  instantly  to  rejoin 
the  society  in  which  he  found  himself ;  that  is,  a  society 
which  shared  that  fundamental  crime  —  which  more 
even  than  any  definite  jealousy  had  roused  his  anger 
against  Captain  Dering  —  of  being  alien  to  his  creed, 
his  customs,  his  code  of  conduct  towards  women.  So 
he  had  wandered  off  into  the  garden  again,  shadowed 
by  old  Akbar's  incredulity,  curiosity,  and  sympathy ; 
until,  partly  from  sheer  impatience,  but  mostly  from 
sheer  inherited  habit  of  employing  such  as  Akbar  Khan 
in  anything  approaching  an  intrigue,  he  had  made  a 
clean  breast  of  the  situation. 

Even  the  latter,  however,  had,  as  it  were,  shied  at  the 
extreme  novelty  of  the  idea  when  it  was  first  mooted  ; 
but,  by  degrees,  its  vast  possibilities  of  advantage  to 
faithful  old  retainers  overpowered  his  abject  terror 
at  the  bare  idea  of  Father  Narayan  suspecting  such  a 
thing.  The  old  master,  he  told  himself,  was  old,  in- 
deed !  God  only  knew  if  he  would  last  a  year  or  a  day ; 
therefore  it  would  be  well  to  ensure  the  favour  of  the 
new  mistress.     And  there  could  be  no  harm  in  sound- 


130  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

ing  her  as  to  what  course  that  favour  would  follow. 
One  could  never  tell  with  a  woman  ;  and  his  wicked, 
experienced  old  eyes  had  caught  many  a  hint  of  Anari 
Begum  in  Laila's  childhood.  Perhaps  she  had  changed 
since  she  went  to  Calcutta.      He  could  but  try. 

So  when,  on  the  morning  after  the  ball,  Laila,  in 
obedience  to  her  pious  resolve  to  do  nothing  really 
wrong,  had  bidden  him  —  with  threats  of  vengeance  if 
he  betrayed  the  fact  of  their  having  come  at  all  — 
remove  and  return  certain  trays  of  clothes  and  jewels 
which  had  been  smuggled  by  someone  into  her  room, 
he  had  fallen  at  her  feet,  confessed  falsely  that  he 
was  the  offender,  and  besought  her  not  to  impose  so 
unmerited  a  disgrace  on  his  employer,  who  had  been 
actuated  by  the  ordinary  rules  of  native  etiquette  which 
prescribed  some  recognition  of  his  cousin,  the  head 
of  his  family. 

Naturally  enough,  this  brought  the  girl's  curiosity, 
long  restless,  to  his  aid  ;  and  she  sat  listening  to  the 
many  things  he  had  to  tell  her,  with  that  faintly  myste- 
rious smile  of  hers.  And  as  she  listened,  she  watched 
a  pigeon,  all  jewelled  about  its  bosom  in  rainbow  hues, 
and  with  a  dainty  little  pair  of  silver  jingles  about  its 
jasper  feet,  which  was  coquetting  and  pirouetting  to 
attract  the  attention  of  its  neighbours  on  the  wide  mar- 
ble sill  of  her  latticed  window.  For  Laila  had  a  room 
in  the  upper  storey  all  painted,  carved,  and  set  with 
little  balconies,  which  was  worthy  of  any  king's 
favourite.  And  Father  Ninian,  mindful  lingeringly 
of  the  fine  ladies'  boudoirs  of  his  youth  in  Rome,  had 
filled  it,  against  her  return  from  school,  with  all  the 
prettiest  spoils  of  the  palace.  Sevres  vases,  rare  old 
cabinets,  quaint  carved  tables  which  had  been  brought 
thither  for  the  dead  Nawabs  ;  treasures  that  were  also, 
inevitably,  of  the  king's-favourite  type,  —  therefore 
unlike  the  owner  of  the  room,  as  she  sat  in  her  white 
muslin  frock,  heavy-eyed,  almost  sallow,  from  the  last 
night's  dissipation. 

"So  she — my  grandmother,  you  say — was  a  dancing- 


THE   CHURCH  MILITANT  I3I 

girl  —  a  real  dancing-girl?"  Even  her  surprise  and 
curiosity  were  listless.  Yet  the  next  moment,  while 
Akbar  was  protesting  the  superiority  of  Anari  Begum 
over  all  the  dancing-girls  of  his  vast  experience,  she  had 
burst  into  a  sudden  laugh,  uncovered  one  of  the  trays 
with  kicks  which  sent  first  one,  then  the  other  of  her 
bronze  slippers  flying,  seized  on  a  pair  of  silver  anklets, 
and  there  she  was  centring  a  Persian  rug  spread  on  the 
marble  floor  as  if  she  had  been  born  to  it.  Coquetting, 
pirouetting,  with  a  challenging  clash,  a  half-impudent 
jerk  of  the  jingles,  for  all  the  world  like  the  pigeon  on 
the  window-sill. 

Like  something  else  also ;  so  that  old  Akbar  felt  a 
shiver  run  through  him,  lest,  after  all,  his  first  impres- 
sion should  prove  right,  and  this  be  no  more  than  a 
shmdacrmn, — a  ghost,  a  changeling,  come  to  possess  the 
usually  indifferent  lazy  W\'s>^-baba,  Yet  when,  all  of  a 
sudden,  she  raised  her  white  muslin  skirt  high  in  both 
hands  and  began  to  sing,  at  the  top  of  her  voice,  the 
wicked  little  love  song  which  Vincent  Bering  had  sung 
the  first  day  she  met  him,  old  Akbar's  dread  turned  to 
sheer  wonder.  This  was  not  a  ghost,  but  a  devil ;  reck- 
less, unrestrained,  with  a  fling  of  white  arms,  a  kick  of 
white  feet,  all  held  to  rhythm  by  the  outrageous  frivolity 
of  the  song,  until,  with  that  last  staccato  note,  she  threw 
herself  in  a  chair,  breathless,  gurgling  with  laughter  and 
sheer  mischief. 

"  Lo !  Akbar,"  she  gasped,  "my  grandmother  never 
danced  like  that,  did  she  t  I  don't  believe  she  was  my 
grandmother  !     I  believe  you  are  telling  stories  !  " 

Akbar  looked  wise,  and  thrust  out  his  folded  hands 
in  cringing  protest.  "The  most  noble  says  true,  Anari 
Begum  never  danced  thus.  But  there  is  the  grandfather. 
Bun-avatar- j<^/22(^  bahadiir,  to  be  accounted  for  also." 

Laila  frowned.  The  reminder  brought  back  the  other 
side  of  the  story,  to  which  she  had  listened  so  often  from 
her  guardian's  lips,  while  her  pretended  indifference 
masked  a  real  pride.  Of,  her  grandfather's  gallantry,  his 
good  looks,  his  love  of  adventure.     And  of  someone  else, 


132  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

also,  who  had  always  had  a  secret  attraction  for  the  girl. 
That  most  beautiful  woman  in  Rome,  the  companion  of 
princes,  the  divine  singer,  the  best,  the  dearest  — 

Laila's  laughter  failed  her ;  she  rose,  and  going  over 
to  the  window  looked  out  absently,  startling  the  pigeon 
into  flight.  The  sun  turned  its  breast  purple,  and  green, 
and  gold,  as  it  fluttered  down  to  renew  its  pirouetting  on 
a  cupola  below,  just  above  the  river.  And  below  that 
again  was  the  roof  of  the  balcony  where  she  had  sat 
with  Vincent.  The  girl's  eyes  grew  soft.  She  under- 
stood now.  That  best,  that  dearest,  that  most  beautiful, 
must  have  loved  her  guardian.  That  was  the  secret  of 
his  remembrance.  How  could  one  ever  forget  that  one 
had  sat  in  a  balcony  hand  in  hand }  So  content,  yet 
saying  so  little  —  only  feeling.  But  he  had  said  some 
things.  He  had  said  she  was  beautiful,  that  she  ought 
always  to  wear  that  dress,  and  she  had  told  him  she  could 
not, —  that  she  must  send  it  back  —  that  he  mustX^^xn 
to  like  her  as  much  in  her  ordinary  clothes  —  that  he 
would  never  see  her  in  that  dress  again.  But,  after  all, 
why  not  —  if — } 

She  turned  suddenly  to  the  go-between.  **  There  is 
no  need  to  take  them  back  to-day,"  she  said,  sharply ; 
"  but  thou  canst  tell  the  person  who  sent  them  —  he  who 
claims  cousinship  —  that  I  will  not  keep  them,  that  I 
know  nothing  of  them  ;  that  he  must  send  and /^/^^  them 
away." 

Akbar,  with  an  inward  determination  to  do  nothing 
so  palpably  foolish,  salaamed  down  to  the  ground.  The 
Presence,  he  said,  in  doing  this  showed  her  dignity ;  it 
was  undoubtedly  the  right  course  to  pursue.  But,  in 
the  mean  time,  would  the  ^^gwrn-sahiba  —  she  must 
excuse  a  tongue  which  could  not  always  bear  with  the 
paltry  present,  which  remembered  the  facts  of  the  past, 
the  possibilities  of  the  future  —  not  temper  her  noble 
severity  with  the  usual  courtly  favour }  Her  cousin's 
grandmother,  a  most  virtuous  princess,  sister  to  the  late 
Nawab,  was  still  alive.  Her  memory  of  Bun-avatar-Jrt!^2<^ 
was  still  so  green  that  doubtless  she  would  be  able  to 


THE   CHURCH  MILITANT  1 33 

tell  the  '^^gMx^-sahiba  many  things  of  which  a  mere 
mean  slave  could  not  be  cognizant.  And  this  most  vir- 
tuous, most  interesting  one,  had  long  Been  anxious  to 
return  a  visit  which  the  '^^gyxxa-sahiba  had  graciously 
paid  her,  in  company  with  a  mzssen-miss  — 

"What!  That  funny  old  fat  woman!"  interrupted 
Laila,  with  a  laugh.  "  That  dirty  old  thing }  I  remem- 
ber, she  did  claim  to  be  a  relation  of  the  Nawab's.  And 
when  I  asked  her  why  she  wore  such  dirty  clothes  she 
was  angry,  and  said  she  had  beautiful  ones  all  tied  up 
in  bundles  !     I  don't  believe  she  had,  though  —  " 

"The  dress  the  BQgum-sakzda  wore  last  night  is  one 
of  them,"  interrupted  Akbar,  quietly;  "it  belonged  to 
Anari  Begum,  Huzoor^  and  there  are  plenty  more  like  it. 
And  all  are  really  the  Huzoor's ;  no  one  else's."  Laila 
looked  down  on  the  trays  with  a  new  interest.  "  Did  it 
really  belong  to  —  to  kerf  she  asked  ;  "and  the  jewels 
also } " 

"The  jewels  also.  There  are  plenty  of  them.  And 
if  Anari  Begum  was  really  the  ^Qgwm-sahiba  s  grand- 
mother, then  the  jewels  are  hers  by  right." 

"  She  can  come  if  she  wishes,"  interrupted  Laila, 
impatiently.  "  I  see  thy  craft,  Akbar,  but  I  care  not 
for  that.  Yet  it  will  be  fun  to  receive  her  as  —  as  a 
Begum.  And  no  harm  either,  since  the  missen  ladies 
receive  her,  I  know,  and  her  like  —  when  they  will 
come !  It  will  be  at  night,  of  course,  to  ensure  her 
privacy,  so  Pidar  Narayan  need  know  nothing.  Only  " 
—  she  paused,  a  change  swept  over  her  face,  leaving  it 
dimpled,  cunning,  full  of  mischief  and  cajolery.  "  I  do 
naught  for  naught !  If  I  please  thee,  thou  must  please 
me !  If  thou  art  their  messenger,  thou  must  be  mine 
also  ;  or  I  tell  Pidar  Narayan  !  " 

Akbar-Khan's  wicked  old  eyes  positively  leered  ap- 
proval ;  he  waggled  his  head  and  chuckled.  Wherefore 
not }  Was  there  a  better,  more  careful  messenger  in 
the  world  than  he,  or  one  more  capable  of  deft  arrang- 
ings } 

"  I  want  none,"  she  put  in  with  a  quick  distaste,  a 


134  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

shrinking  from  his  manner.  "  'Tis  but  to  take  a  note 
to  T>^xmg-sahib ;  he  must  know  somewhat  before  he 
comes  with  the  other  sahib  logiie  this  afternoon.  There 
is  no  arrangement  needed,  no  fuss." 

How  could  there  be,  she  asked  herself,  as,  after  the 
old  sinner  had  gone  off,  charmed  at  this  renewal  of  a 
once  familiar  occupation,  she  sat  on  the  window-sill 
looking  down  on  the  roof  of  the  balcony  where  she  had 
been  so  content.  For  what  could  be  simpler  than  to 
make  it  quite  clear  that  you  were  real,  that  you  did  not 
pretend,  that  you  were  not  even  afraid }  That,  briefly, 
you  were  not  like  Mrs.  Smith,  who  took  so  much  —  one 
could  not  help  seeing  that!  —  and  gave  so  little  —  one 
could  not  help  seeing  that,  also !  For  what  was  a 
"Thanks!  many.  Captain  Bering,"  in  return  for  all 
the  trouble  he  lavished  on  her } 

So  it  came  to  pass  that  when  Vincent  Bering  went  to 
the  palace  that  afternoon,  some  words  were  haunting 
heart  and  brain,  as  Juliet's  words  must  have  haunted 
Romeo's.  No  more ;  no  less.  But  they  slid  into  and 
filled  up  the  blanks  between  some  words  of  his  own 
which  he  had  spoken  carelessly,  not  five  minutes  before 
he  had  first  seen  Laila,  and  which  came  back  to  his 
memory  unbidden.  "It  isn't  altogether  despicable  to 
let  yourself  loose  in  Paradise  without  an  arrikre  pens^e 
of  flaming  swords,  especially  if  you  can  give  pleasure  to 
someone  else  thereby !  One  could  play  Romeo  and 
Juliet  in  this  garden  nicely." 

Well,  he  had  played  it  for  an  hour  or  two,  swept  off 
his  feet  by  chance.  Whether  he  would  continue  to 
play  it  was  unsettled  till  her  note  came.  That  ended 
his  vague  reluctance,  and  he  went  over  to  the  palace, 
eager  as  any  lover  could  be  for  the  interview  she  sug- 
gested in  "  the  old  place  when  it  grows  dusky  and  the 
people  will  mostly  have  gone T 

For  those  of  the  camp  who  were  bound  to  follow  the 
Viceroy's  whim  of  riding  by  the  old  road  —  the  pilgrims' 
road  —  while  the  big  camp  went  round  by  the  longer, 
easier  route,  had  promised  to  look  in  on  the  palace  on 


THE   CHURCH  MILITANT  1 35 

their  way  past  it,  for  a  cup  of  tea,  a  good-by.  Since 
already,  the  functions  over,  the  dream-city  had  begun 
to  melt  away ;  the  Hosts  of  the  \.(dx:di-sahib  were  pass- 
ing on. 

"■  Glory  be ! "  said  the  Commissioner  with  heart-felt 
gratitude,  ''we've  done  our  worst  and  leave  you  to  take 
the  consequences.  That's  sound  policy.  Anyhow,  we 
are  ahead  of  everybody  on  the  road  to  heaven,  and  the 
pilgrims  will  have  to  swallow  the  dust  of  our  feet !  I 
wonder  how  they'll  like  it."  He  was  in  wild  spirits, 
like  a  schoolboy  escaped  from  school ;  yet  as  he  paused 
to  shake  hands  with  Dr.  Dillon,  he  said  aside,  ''Any 
more  cases  .-^ " 

"Two,"  said  the  doctor,  laconically,  "both  dead.  It 
is  a  bad  type." 

His  hearer's  face  was  unmovable  as  he  turned  to 
Mrs.  Smith,  who  stood  close  by.  "  Good-by,  my  dear 
lady,"  he  said  cheerfully,  "remember  me  house  is  yours 
if  you,  or  the  child,  want  it.  Doctor,  couldn't  you  con- 
scientiously recommend  change  of  air  to  the  hills  .-* 
Couldn't  ye  swear  the  close  proximity  to  an  open  canal 
and  a  gaol  is  unwholesome.''  If  ye  could,  you'd  oblige  a 
grass-widower,  whose  wife  is  at  Baden-Baden  —  or  is  it 
Marienbad  .'^  —  living  prodigally,  while  he  has  to  fill  him- 
self with  husks  which  no  self-respecting  swine  would 
eat.  Faith,  me  dear  madam,  I'd  bless  you  if  you'd  come 
and  kill  the  cook.     It's  a  woman's  work  ;  not  a  man's." 

Dr.  Dillon,  with  a  quick  look,  backed  him  up 
instantly.  "  Certainly.  I  told  Mrs.  Smith  a  long  time 
ago  that  she  and  Gladys  had  had  enough  of  Eshwara. 
Indeed,  as  her  doctor,  she  would  be  doing  me  a  personal 
favour  if  —  " 

Muriel  Smith  swept  round  on  him  sharply.  She  was 
looking  her  very  best,  in  her  very  best  gown ;  white, 
mystic,  wonderful,  with  a  faint  gleam  of  silver  embroid- 
ery about  waist  and  hem.  And  she  had  been  obtru- 
sively, unnecessarily  friendly  with  Vincent  Dering  all 
the  afternoon ;  even  now  she  was  standing  with  him 
attached  to  her  apron-strings. 


136  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

**r  don't  think  nervous  headaches  are  dangerous," 
she  said,  eying  Dr.  Dillon  coolly.  "But  thanks  all 
the  same.  I  should  love  to  kill  somebody  ;  even  a  cook. 
Perhaps  I  may,  by  and  by,  when  all  the  nice  people  leave. 
I'm  so  sorry  you're  going,  but  we  are  still  to  be  quite 
g^y,  aren't  we.  Captain  Dering  t  And  that  reminds  me 
we  have  to  settle  when  that  riding  party  is  to  come 
off.  Good-by  ! — good-by  !  "  She  waved  her  hand  to 
the  departing  Commissioner,  and  carried  Vincent  De- 
ring  off,  with  a  defiant  look  at  the  doctor. 

He,  knowing  her,  smiled  indulgently ;  but  Father 
Ninian,  who  had  come  down  to  see  his  guest  off,  looked 
after  her  with  a  wistful  pain  in  his  kind  old  face. 

"  That  is  a  mistake,"  he  said  briefly ;  then  the  wist- 
fulness  grew  into  a  puzzled  look,  and  he  added,  half  to 
himself,  "  It  need  not  be,  surely ;  there  is  something 
wrong.     I  can't  understand  —  " 

Dr.  Dillon,  catching  the  end  of  the  remark,  gave  a 
cynical  laugh  and  turned  on  his  heel.  "No  one  does," 
he  said  as  he  went  off.  He  would  not  discuss  her  even 
with  dear  old  Pidar  Narayan.  For  the  rest,  though  he 
was  keen  to  get  back  to  his  jail,  he  would  wait  till  she 
tired  of  her  game,  and  then  drive  her  home  himself  to 
her  idiot  of  a  husband,  who  was  too  busy  over  his  blessed 
search-light  to  see  things  that  were  going  on  under  his 
very  eyes. 

Captain  Dering,  however,  was  already  impatient.  It 
was  growing  dusk ;  the  shadows  were  claiming  the  garden 
bit  by  bit,  and  as  the  glint  left  the  varnished  leaves  of 
the  orange  trees,  the  white  flowers  stood  out  like  little 
stars  against  the  gloom  and  sent  a  bewildering  perfume 
into  the  darkening  air.  He  could  see  no  hint  of  Laila 
anywhere;  Laila  in  that  detestable  white  muslin  gar- 
ment which  made  him  long  vainly  to  get  rid  of  the 
surroundings  which  suited  her  so  ill,  drive  all  that  civil- 
ized crew  from  the  garden,  and  claim  it  as  his  own  — 
and  hers !  She  must  have  gone  to  the  balcony  already. 
She  must  be  waiting  for  him.  And  yet  a  soft-hearted- 
ness  for  this   other  woman  with  whom  he  had  been 


THE   CHURCH  MILITANT  1 3/ 

friends,  whom  for  a  few  days  he  had  imagined  he  loved 
(it  had  come  to  this  now)  forbade  him  from  leaving  her 
cavalierly.  So  it  was  long  past  dusk,  and  the  short 
Indian  twilight  was  hovering  on  the  edge  of  night,  ere 
he  made  his  escape  ;  and,  full  of  anxiety  lest  Laila  should 
have  lost  patience  or  hope,  hurried  down  to  the  wide 
archway,  and  so,  by  the  turn  riverwards,  to  the  right, 
into  the  balcony.  Most  girls,  he  told  himself,  would  by 
this  time  have  taken  offence ;  but  she  was  there. 

As  he  entered,  her  figure  showed  dimly  against  the 
light  beyond. 

"  I'm  afraid  I  am  awfully  late,"  he  began,  then  paused  ; 
for,  as  she  turned,  there  was  a  faint  clash  of  silver,  a 
faint  gleam  of  it  too.  His  heart  gave  a  great  throb  of 
glad  recognition.  It  was  Laila !  Laila  indeed  !  the  Laila 
of  that  dream  last  night.  And  she  had  risked  this  to 
please  him ! 

"  Are  you } "  she  said.  **I  thought  /  was  late  ;  for  this 
took  time;  but  I  wanted  to  be  the  same  —  always  the 
same  to  you,  always  —  always  !  " 

She  stretched  her  hands  to  him,  but  he  set  them 
aside,  took  her  in  his  arms,  and  kissed  her  passionately. 

"  Yes  !  Laila !  always  Laila  —  my  Laila !  " 

She  gave  him  back  his  kisses  joyfully.  "  I  knew  you 
would  come,"  she  said.  "  Love  comes  to  love,  you 
know." 

He  called  her  Juliet  then,  and  many  another  lover's 
name.  She  took  them  all,  and  gave  them  back  again 
without  reserve,  until,  as  they  stood  there,  someone 
passing  outward  from  the  arched  passage  to  the  garden, 
paused  to  listen  at  the  half-heard  sound  of  voices.  For 
Father  Ninian  —  who  had  come  down  to  his  own  rooms 
for  a  pair  of  foils  wherewith  to  give  Lance  Carlyon  a 
lesson  in  the  "  Addio  del  Marito^'  until  Captain  Dering 
should  choose  to  come  out  of  the  recesses  of  the  garden 
and  allow  of  their  going  back  to  the  Fort  together  — 
knew  of  none  likely  to  use,  or  even  to  be  aware  of,  the 
balcony.  So  he  turned  thither  curiously,  then  stood 
arrested^  so  that  the  clash  of  the  foils  on  the  stone,  as 


138  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

he  purposely  lowered  their  points,  came  as  a  warning  to 
those  two  that  they  were  observed.  Laila,  with  a  cat- 
like noiselessness,  withdrew  in  a  second.  She,  a  yard 
or  two  away,  in  deepest  shadow,  stood  leaning  in  a  care- 
less, easy  attitude  over  the  balustrade.  Her  only  possi- 
bility of  escape  lay,  she  felt  instinctively,  in  showing  no 
desire  to  do  so.  Vincent,  for  his  part,  turned  to  face 
the  old  priest,  prepared  to  brazen  it  out ;  for  his  blood 
was  running  like  wild-fire  in  his  veins.  Yet  scarcely  so 
fast  as  the  heart's  blood  had  once  leapt,  and  was  even 
now  leaping,  in  the  old  man  who  came  forward,  facing 
him  also.  Came  forward  slowly,  shortsightedly,  a  foil  in 
each  hand.  If  he  had  held  out  one,  bade  him  take  the 
button  off  and  fight  for  his  life,  Vincent  Bering  would 
scarcely  have  been  surprised,  would  almost  have  been 
pleased.  It  would  have  raised  him  in  his  own  self- 
esteem.  For  he  knew  perfectly  well  he  had  no  right  to 
be  there ;  that,  as  yet,  he  was  not  sure  of  his  own 
footing. 

But  Pidar  Narayan  did  not.  He  paused,  as  he  gener- 
ally did,  a  few  paces  away,  a  slender,  straight  shadow  in 
black,  girt  about  with  that  pale  sash,  on  which,  and  on 
his  pale  face,  such  light  as  there  was  fell  softly.  For 
there  was  no  anger  in  the  latter;  only  an  almost  pas- 
sionate regret  and  pity.  Even  so,  his  words  startled 
the  young  man,  who  stood  prepared  for  defiance. 

*'0h!  Captain  Bering ! "  he  said  courteously,  "it  is 
you,  is  it }  You  have  found  a  pleasant  place,  indeed  ! 
But  scarcely  a  very  safe  one  for  your  companion  "  —  he 
turned  to  that  faint  gleam  of  white  and  silver  in  the 
arched  shadow.  —  "The  air  grows  chill,  madam,  so  close 
to  the  river,"  he  continued,  his  voice  taking  a  tone 
almost  of  command,  "  and  you  are  lightly  clad.  Will 
you  not  be  wise,  and  leave  us } " 

Vincent's  surprise  had  passed  by  this  time  into  a  rush 
of  vexation,  almost  indignation,  for  he  had  grasped  the 
old  man's  mistake.  For  an  instant  he  felt  bound  to  un- 
deceive him,  then  the  impossibility  of  doing  so  held  him 
silent,  feeling  a  coward  indeed ;  so,  desperately,  he  could 


THE   CHURCH  MILITANT  1 39 

only  join  his  voice  to  Father  Ninian's.  It  seemed  the 
only  way  out  of  the  impasse. 

"Perhaps  you  had  better  go  —  " 

Laila  did  not  need  more.  Already,  under  cover  of 
the  shadow,  she  had  dexterously  slipped  off  her  silver 
jingles,  lest  they  should  betray  what  really  seemed  to 
her  her  worst,  nay  !  her  only  offence  ;  —  the  taking  and 
wearing  of  Roshan  Khan's  present.  And  now,  wrap- 
ping her  veil  about  her  like  a  cloak,  gathering  her  trail- 
ing skirts  to  orthodox  length  with  an  appalling  presence 
of  mind,  she  was  off  with  just  the  little  uneasy  laugh 
which  might  well  befit  the  situation. 

She  left  her  companion  bewildered,  yet  still  facing  the 
old  man  recklessly.  Since  he  could  not  explain,  he  did 
not  mean  to  be  hectored.  Yet,  once  again,  the  old 
voice  took  him  unawares. 

"  Memory  plays  strange  tricks  with  us  at  times,"  it 
said  slowly,  but  with  a  suggestion  of  the  fateful,  hopeless 
rhythm  of  a  Greek  chorus  in  it.  "She  has  taken  me  back, 
this  evening,  nearly  sixty  long  years.  The  river  before 
us  is  the  yellow  flood  of  the  Tiber,  the  woman  who  has 
■just  left  us  is  the  woman  I  loved* — sixty  long  years  ago 

—  I  had  kissed  her,  as  you  have  kissed  her.  I  had  told 
her  I  loved  her,  as  you  have  just  told  her  —  and  then, 
like  an  echo  from  the  river  below  where  a  boat  was 
moored,  came  to  our  ears,  the  same  words,  *  I  love  you.' 

—  They  were  spoken,  Captain  Bering,  by  a  boy,  barely 
in  his  teens,  to  a  waiting-maid.  The  boy  was  her  son. 
She  had  been  married,  as  they  marry  them  in  Italy, 
almost  before  her  girlhood,  and  I,  the  boy's  tutor,  was 
nearer  her  age  than  his  father  —  a  better  man,  too.  Cap- 
tain Bering  !  But  those  words  —  *  I  love  you '  —  parted 
us  once,  and  for  all.  They  mirrored  the  truth  for  us  — 
the  truth  of  the  love  which  hides  in  balconies  —  in 
pleasure  boats  —  "  he  took  a  step  forward,  and  his  whole 
presence  changed.  He  raised  his  hand,  priest  to  its 
finger  tips.  "  Let  it  mirror  the  truth  to  you  also,  my 
son  —  leave  this  poor  lady  to  her  duty,  as  I  —  " 

Vincent  Bering  broke  in  on  him  haughtily,  his  pride 


140  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

in  arms,  impatience  at  the  falseness  of  his  position 
making  him  discourteous. 

"  You  don't  understand ;  you  are  absolutely  mistaken 
—  I  refuse  to  explain,  but  I  really  must  ask  you  not  to 
interfere." 

The  old  man's  whole  bearing  changed  again.  He  drew 
himself  up,  and,  foils  in  hand,  bowed,  as  fencers  do  at 
the  salute. 

"Were  I  the  lady's  husband,  sir,  I  would  make  you 
answer.  As  a  priest  of  God,  I  must  warn  you  that  I 
will  speak,  if  —  " 

Vincent  Bering  interrupted  him  again.  "  I  can't  pre- 
vent that  — but  you  will  wrong  us  —  her  at  any  rate  — 
the  best,  the  kindest  woman  —  " 

He  paused,  for  Father  Ninian  had  come  close,  laid  a 
hand  on  his,  and  the  touch  seemed  to  bring  silence. 

"  It  is  sixty  long  years,  Captain  Bering,"  he  said,  and 
his  eyes  seemed  to  pierce  through  the  darkness,  "  since 
I  have  laid  my  hand  on  my  fellow-men  save  in  the  hope 
of  healing.  It  was  a  fancy  of  mine  after  —  after  we 
kissed,  and  parted.  But  I  touch  you  as  a  second  self,  a 
fellow-sinner ;  for  she  too  was  the  best  —  the  kindest  —  " 
His  old  voice  failed. 

Bespite  his  anger  at  the  whole  miserable  mistake, 
Vincent  was  touched ;  but  despite  his  emotion,  his 
annoyance  strengthened. 

"Possibly,"  he  broke  in,  "but  I  must  really  refuse  to 
discuss  the  matter  further.  Shall  we  end  this,  sir,  — 
unless  — "  he  gave  a  reckless  laugh  and  pointed  to  the 
foils —  "you  would  like  to  fight  it  out  .'*  " 

Once  more  Father  Ninian  bowed,  as  fencers  bow  in 
the  salute,  the  priest,  the  wise  counsellor,  lost  in  an 
older  entity  than  these  ;  in  the  high-born  Scotch  student, 
who,  for  a  while,  had  forgotten  his  vocation  to  ruffle 
with  the  best  blood  in  Italy.  "  I  have  not  the  privilege 
of  being  the  lady's  protector,"  he  answered  hotly.  "  If 
I  were,"  —  He  paused,  then  said  courteously,  "  Shall  we 
come  upstairs  ?  I  came  down  for  these  foils  in  order  to 
teach    Mr.    Carlyon    the    thrust    we    spoke    of    once. 


THE   CHURCH  MILITANT  I4I 

*VAddio  del  Marito,'  they  called  it  in  my  youth  —  I 
doubt  if  the  name  has  changed  now.  He  will  be  won- 
dering what  has  become  of  me,  and  —  and  it ! " 

As  Vincent  followed  him,  he  felt  a  thrill  at  the 
savageness  of  the  old  man's  tone,  and  told  himself  that 
here  was  the  Church  Militant  indeed. 

He  might  have  said  so  with  still  more  reason  ten 
minutes  after,  when  Father  Ninian  was  left  alone.  For 
the  hour  proved  too  late  for  lessons,  and  Lance  Carlyon 
— who  had  been  out  of  sorts  ever  since  his  walk  at  dawn 
with  Erda  Shepherd  —  was  obliged  to  give  in  to  dinner, 
grumbling  the  while,  that  Vincent  was  the  worst  chum 
he  ever  came  across.  Never  to  be  found  when  he  was 
wanted,  then  turning  up  when  dear  old  Pidar  Narayan 
looked  as  if  he  could  have  licked  creation. 

Possibly  Lance  might  have  repeated  this  assertion, 
also,  with  greater  fervour,  could  he  have  been  witness  to 
Father  Ninian's  actions,  when,  his  last  guest  gone,  he 
went  to  put  the  foils  back  in  the  armoury  next  the 
chapel. 

For  he  would  have  seen  him,  with  head  bowed  over 
the  crossed  foils  he  held,  repeating  a  ^' mea  culpa''  as  he 
passed  the  altar;  but  ere  the  second  foil  matched  its 
fellow  on  the  armoury  wall,  he  would  have  seen  as 
pretty  a  bit  of  sword-play  as  could  well  be  seen. 
Many  a  dexterous  turn  of  wrist,  many  a  quick  imaginary 
parry,  many  a  sharp  riposte,  following  each  other  ac- 
curately, as  if  memory  held  each  attack,  each  defence  of 
an  unseen  foe ;  until  finally,  swift  as  a  flash,  would  come 
a  falter  back,  as  if  from  a  blow,  then  a  thrust  forward. 

There  was  a  little  silver  bell  —  such  as  men  put  to  a 
falcon's  hood  —  no  bigger  than  a  sixpence,  shaped  like  a 
man's  heart,  upon  the  tassel  of  a  resting  lance  beneath 
the  solitary  foil.  And  the  tassel  swayed  gently  in  the 
cool  river  breeze. 

Yet  at  each  thrust  the  heart-shaped  bell  chimed  a 
feeble  protest  under  the  button  of  the  foil,  making  the 
Church  Militant  smile  cheerfully. 


142  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

CHAPTER   XIII 

AT   THE   GATES 

The  darkness  which  holds  the  dawn  was,  as  a  rule,  si- 
lent as  the  grave  in  the  sand-stretches  beyond  the  river, 
where  the  wide  cut  of  the  canal,  the  huge  mud-heap 
of  the  gaol,  with  its  scattered  workshops  and  houses, 
showed  as  mere  spots  and  lines  on  the  illimitable  plain. 
But  on  the  night  after  the  band  had  played  "  God  save 
the  Queen,"  while  the  first  drops  of  sacred  water  trickled 
over  the  chink  of  the  sluice  into  the  dry  bed  of  the  canal 
below,  its  silence  was  broken  by  unfamiliar  sounds. 

First  of  all,  by  the  now  ceaseless  splash  of  the  thin, 
glassy  curve  of  water  on  its  way  to  find  out  this  new 
road  to  the  sea.  It  had  a  sort  of  dreamy  whisper  in 
it,  as  if  it  were  telling  its  first  impressions,  its  hopes, 
its  fears,  to  the  river  it  was  leaving  behind. 

And  on  this  background  of  ceaseless  sound  came  two 
others  intermittently. 

The  first — a  muffled  hammering  from  the  darkness 
which  hid  the  Viceroy's  camp  —  told  of  departure,  let- 
ting the  night  know  that  another  white-winged  tent  was 
flitting,  and  that  the  dawn  must  be  prepared  to  find  its 
place  empty,  the  dream-city  in  ruins,  the  Hosts  of  the 
l^ox^-sahib  gone. 

The  second  told  of  arrival.  It  was  a  strange  cry, 
soft,  almost  musical :  — 

*'  Hard  —  Hdri — Hard  —  Hdrt  I  " 

Then  every  now  and  again  in  a  sort  of  chant :  "  Rdm 
—  Rdm  —  Sita  —  Rdm  I  " 

It  was  the  pilgrims'  cry,  their  call  on  the  Creator, 
the  Destroyer,  their  appeal  to  the  godhead  in  man  and 
woman;  for  the  forerunners  of  the  great  host  to  come 
were  already  nearing  Eshwara  on  their  road  to  the 
**  Cradle  of  the  Gods." 

But  there  was  a  fourth  sound,  inaudible  —  by  reason 
of  that  ceaseless  noise  of  water  through  the  chink  of 


AT  THE   GATES  1 43 

the  sluice  —  except  to  those  close  by  it,  like  George 
Dillon,  as  he  stood  on  the  hand-bridge  above  the 
closed  gates  looking  down  idly  into  the  darkness  which 
prevented  him  from  seeing  the  cause  of  the  sound.  He 
had  been  up  all  night.  On  his  return,  —  later  than  he 
had  intended,  owing  to  his  determination  not  to  be  de- 
fied by  any  woman,  —  he  had  found  that  in  his  absence 
cholera  had  been  hard  at  its  work.  So  he  had  buckled 
to  his,  expecting  one  of  those  awful  nights  which  live, 
even  in  a  doctor's  memory,  as  a  horror,  as  a  warning  to 
those  best  fitted  to  stem  the  stream  of  death,  that  they 
are  but  straws  on  its  surface. 

But  he  had  been  mistaken.  True,  for  an  hour  or  so, 
cases  had  come  in  quicker  than  they  could  be  attended 
to  ;  then,  suddenly,  they  ceased  to  come  in  at  all.  That 
had  been  eight  hours  ago.  Too  short  a  respite  for 
certainty,  but  Dr.  Dillon,  being  no  novice  in  such  work, 
had  his  hopes;  the  more  so  because  the  disease,  from 
the  very  outset,  had  become  steadily  less  and  less  viru- 
lent. Even  so,  seven  dead  bodies  lay  awaiting  the  first 
glint  of  dawn ;  therefore,  as  ill-luck  would  have  it,  there 
would  be  seven  columns  of  smoke  on  the  river's  edge 
for  all  to  see  ! 

It  was  inevitable,  however,  nor  could  he  do  more  to 
prevent  others  coming.  So  he  had  been  on  his  way 
back  to  his  own  house  for  a  few  hours'  rest  when  the 
dreamy  splash  of  the  water  made  him  pause  to  lean 
over  the  hand-rail  and  listen  to  it,  as  he  finished  his 
cigar  in  the  open. 

Then  it  was  that  he  heard  a  faint  tap,  tapping,  as  of 
a  ghostly  hand  on  a  door.  What  was  it }  It  was  quite 
distinct,  though  almost  as  low  as  the  ^^  lip,  lipping'^  of 
the  water,  made  restless  by  that  glassy  curve  against 
the  gates. 

A  curiosity  to  know  seized  on  him.  There  was  al- 
ready a  glimmer  of  dawn  in  the  east ;  he  might  as  well 
wait  and  see. 

It  was  not  long  before  a  streak  of  something  faintly 
white  made  him  call  himself  a  fool.     The  cause  was  a 


144  ^-^^  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

log  of  wood.  He  might  have  thought  of  that.  Even 
that  faint  setting  of  a  stream  towards  a  new  way  must 
have  drifted  it  here.  The  thought  made  him  frown,  for 
this  fulfilment  of  the  river-people's  prophecy  was  annoy- 
ing ;  the  more  so  from  its  absolute  unlikelihood.  Years 
might  pass  without  such  a  chance  coming  again ;  yet 
it  had  come  the  very  first  day!  It  was  too  bad.  The 
stars  in  their  courses  were  fighting  against  him.  In  a 
pet  he  threw  the  remains  of  his  cigar  from  him,  and  was 
striding  off,  when  a  faint  glimmer,  as  of  a  candle,  made 
him  turn  sharply  and  look  down  whence  it  came. 

The  lighted  end  of  his  cigar  had  fallen  on  something 
dry,  inflammable,  which  had  blazed  up.  But  it  was  only 
for  a  second  ;  the  next  found  darkness,  save  for  that 
still,  faint,  glimmer  of  white.  But  the  brief  gleam  had 
told  him  it  was  not  a  log  which  had  drifted  astray — 

It  was  a  corpse. 

That  tap,  tapping  he  had  heard  had  been  from  the 
dead  feet  seeking  vainly  to  pass  through  the  chink  of 
the  sluice,  swerving  with  the  side  current,  coming  back, 
again  and  again.  He  stood,  grasping  the  rail,  staring 
down  at  the  dim  outline  almost  incredulously,  and  feel- 
ing, despite  himself,  a  trifle  shivery. 

Then  the  remembrance  that  this  was  a  thing  which 
must  be  seen  by  none,  which  somehow,  and  as  quickly 
as  possible,  must  be  set  on  its  right  road  again,  made 
him  hurry  back  to  where  he  knew  some  coils  of  rope, 
which  had  been  used  for  bunting  at  the  ceremony,  were 
lying.  Seizing  one  —  still  gaily  decorated  —  he  tied  a 
brick  to  one  end,  and  hurried  back  to  the  bridge.  By 
dropping  this  weighted  rope  over  the  dim  white  streak 
he  was  able  to  edge  it  gradually  to  one  side,  until  it  lay 
moored  against  the  wall  of  the  basin.  Kneeling  down 
for  a  closer  look,  he  could  see,  in  the  fast-growing  light, 
that  it  was  the  corpse  of  a  woman.  He  could  even 
guess  the  death  she  died,  and  if  proof  was  needed,  it 
could  be  found  in  the  hands  folded  at  full  stretch  down 
the  body  ;  the  thumbs,  pointing  upward,  linked  by  an 
iron  ring.     To  this  iron  ring  had  been  looped  a  little 


AT   THE   GATES  1 45 

tuft  of  the  tri-coloured  hank  of  cotton  which  plays  so 
large  a  part  in  marriage  ceremonial.  Dr.  Dillon  stood 
up  and  swore  under  his  breath. 

The  fates  were,  indeed,  inexorable  in  their  spite.  Of 
all  things  unlucky  for  the  changing  stream  to  claim,  a 
corpse  seeking  union  with  Mother  Ganges  was  the 
worst;  and  of  all  corpses,  this  —  the  cursed  one,  which 
had  held  two  lives  and  could  send  one  back  to  haunt 
men  —  was  the  worst. 

He  must  get  rid  of  it  somehow,  if  he  could. 

Fastening  the  rope,  so  strangely  out  of  keeping,  all 
hung  as  it  was  with  gay  colours,  to  the  iron  ring  which 
showed  about  the  ankles,  he  proceeded  to  tow  the  body 
back  along  the  basin,  past  the  first  gates,  and  so  to  the 
river  itself.  Thus  far  was  simple.  But  how  was  he  to 
get  it  afloat  on  a  current  strong  enough  to  sweep  it 
beyond  danger  of  its  returning  to  tap  at  the  gates  once 
more } 

The  dawn  was  hastening  with  great  leaps  of  light 
that  shot  in  broad  bars  from  the  darkest  spot  in  all  the 
dark  horizon  ;  the  spot  which  would  soon  be  the  bright- 
est, ablaze  with  the  sun  himself.  Already  the  broad 
shield  of  the  river  was  changing  its  heraldry  —  the 
sable  was  turning  to  steel,  sign  that  the  world  would 
side  with  the  light. 

What  was  to  be  done } 

He  looked  over  the  wide  waste  of  sand  and  water, 
with  a  perplexity  which  vanished  suddenly  in  a  smile, 
as  he  caught  sight  of  a  round  shadow  like  a  man's  head 
dipping  and  dancing  on  the  surface.  He  walked  on  to 
the  last  dry  spot  of  land  and  shouted  — 

"  Ai !  fisherman  !  Ai  !  Gu-gu  !  Am-ma  !  anybody  ! 
Come  and  earn  a  gold  mohiir  !'' 

It  was  Am-ma.  Luckily,  perhaps,  since  the  idea  of 
even  towing  a  dead  body  such  as  this  might  have  been 
too  much  for  semi-civilized  Gu-gu.  Am-ma,  however, 
had  not  ever  borrowed  his  neighbours'  superstitions.  In 
fact,  ever  since  he,  the  M.\?>?>-sahiba^  and  the  Dee-puk- 
rdg  had  bested  the  devil  between  them,  he  had  felt  him- 


146  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

self  to  be  invulnerable.  So,  he  assured  Dr.  Dillon 
affably,  were  the  Huzoors ;  therefore  he  obeyed  them. 
Consequently,  less  than  five  minutes  after  the  call,  with 
a  vague  wonder  as  to  what  sixteen  rupees  would  feel 
like,  all  at  once,  in  a  man's  palm,  he  was  heading  hard 
to  the  nearest  stream  capable  of  carrying  the  thing  he 
had  in  tow  back  to  the  path  of  purification.  This  hap- 
pened to  be  towards  Eshwara,  and  beyond  a  sandy  point 
set  with  tamarisks  which  jutted  out  above  the  canal 
head.  There  was,  of  course,  a  certain  stream  against 
him,  and  to  save  himself  exertion  and  finish  the  job  — 
as  he  had  agreed  to  do  —  before  dawn,  he  swam  for  the 
most  part  under  water,  only  coming  up,  after  his  habit, 
for  air. 

Now  it  so  happened,  also,  that  Gu-gu  had  thought  fit 
to  set  nets  for  wild-fowl,  and  was  even  now  dozing, 
while  he  waited  for  the  result,  in  the  same  tamarisk 
jungle.  But  the  sound  of  something  swishing  through 
the  water  against  the  stream  roused  him  in  a  second, 
and  even  without  the  glimpse,  which  the  coming  dawn 
gave  him,  of  a  long  streak  parting  the  river  with  a 
curved  ripple  like  the  prow  of  a  boat,  his  experience 
told  him  what  it  was  sure  to  be.  Briefly,  someone  of 
the  river  people,  —  Am-ma  for  choice,  since  who  but 
Am-ma  had  the  luck  of  such  things  —  had  happened  on 
the  chance  of  stealing  a  log  from  the  piles  about  the 
canal  workshops.  He  was  now,  after  time-honoured 
precedent,  towing  it  to  the  stream  where,  having  set  it 
adrift,  he  would  recapture  it,  and,  of  course,  claim  his 
reward  for  so  doing  ! 

But  two  could  play  that  game.  When  secrecy  made 
it  necessary  for  a  thief  to  swim  for  the  most  part  under 
water,  it  was  easy  to  swim  under  water  too,  across  the 
track  of  the  robber,  cut  his  prize  adrift,  and  put  your 
weight  on  the  rope  instead. 

Then  you  could  either  choose  revenge,  and  let  an 
enemy  tow  you  home  —  which  was  a  side-splitting  trick, 
—  or  you  might  wait  till  your  adversary  came  up  breath- 
less, and  dash  after  the  prize  yourself.     Even  if  you 


AT  THE  GATES  1 47 

could  not  secure  the  whole,  half  profits  were  generally 
possible. 

Therefore,  slipping  noiselessly  into  the  stream  like  an 
alligator,  he  was  off  across  the  track  in  a  second  ;  swim- 
ming, of  course,  under  water.  He  came  up  once  for 
air,  and  smiled  to  see  how  far  he  had  come ;  so,  fearing 
lest  the  holder  of  the  unseen  tow-rope  might  chance  to 
come  up  at  the  same  time,  his  black  head  went  under 
once  more. 

When  it  came  up  again,  it  was  within  a  few  yards  of 
the  long  white  streak.  He  gave  one  look  at  it,  let  loose 
a  yell  of  abject  terror,  and  almost  turning  a  somersault 
in  his  haste  to  escape,  his  head  went  down  again,  his 
feet  went  skywards,  and  though  his  lungs  nearly  burst 
in  the  effort,  he  came  up  no  more  till  he  felt  certain  he 
must  have  put  a  screen  of  tamarisk  between  him  and 
the  horror.  He  had ;  but  his  teeth  chattered,  his  eyes 
were  half  out  of  his  head  when  he  scrambled,  hands  and 
knees,  on  to  the  bank,  and  lying  face  down  on  the  dry 
sand,  moaned  and  shuddered.  What  else  could  a  man 
do  who  had  seen  a  cursed  corpse  breasting  the  stream 
on  its  way  back  to  Eshwara }  To  whose  house  ?  That, 
however,  was  quite  a  secondary  consideration  to  a  man 
who  was  already  as  good  as  dead ;  since  what  man  had 
ever  survived  the  sight  of  a  churailf 

The  certainty  of  his  own  fate,  after  a  while,  made  him 
absolutely,  recklessly,  calm.  He  gathered  up  his  nets, 
wrung  the  necks  of  the  few  birds  he  had  caught  piti- 
lessly, and  went  with  them,  as  usual,  to  the  bazaars. 
Not  only  for  profit,  however.  Other  men  should  taste 
of  his  fear.  Other  men  should  know  that  they  too 
might  have  to  die  ! 

Am-ma,  meanwhile,  having  seen  nothing  when  he 
came  up  wondering  what  the  sound  was  which  had  fil- 
tered to  his  ears  through  the  water,  had  gone  on  his 
way  unwitting,  found  the  stream,  cut  the  corpse  adrift 
himself,  and  gone  back  to  his  fishing. 

It  was  not  until  he  also  went  into  the  bazaar  with  his 
basket,  that  he  found  it  ringing  with  the  direful  portent ; 


148  THE  ffOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

yet  for  all  that  going  its  way  buying  and  selling,  squab- 
bling over  the  uttermost  part  of  a  farthing ;  since  por- 
tents are  ever  with  an  Indian  bazaar.  At  first,  when 
called  upon  to  verify  Gu-gu's  story,  Am-ma,  remember- 
ing his  promise  of  secrecy,  gave  it  stout  denial ;  but 
when  the  real  truth  of  what  had  occurred  dawned  on  his 
slow  brain,  the  opportunity  for  piling  agony  on  to  his 
rival  was  too  strong  for  him,  and  he  burst  into  details, 
all  of  which  made  Gu-gu's  chance  of  escape  still  more 
remote.  The  corpse  had  shot  after  him  with  a  speed 
only  equal  to  the  fire-boats  in  which  the  Hnzoors  came 
across  the  black  water ;  it  had  sat  up,  and  beckoned, 
and  called  *'  Gti-gu!  Gti-gu  !  " 

*'But  if  thou  hast  seen  all  this,  thou,  too,  must  die!" 
remarked  the  syrup-seller  round  whose  shop  the  talk  was 
loudest. 

Am-ma  laughed  vaingloriously.  "  Not  I !  The  devils 
are  afraid  of  me.  See  you,  I  have  taken  the  Huzoors 
for  my  God ;  I  am  on  the  strong  side." 

"  Hark  to  him  ! "  jeered  another  of  his  own  tribe  who 
was  also  selling  fish.  "  He  cannot  balance  his  basket  on 
his  head,  he  holds  it  so  high  since  the  ^^oodi-sakib  up 
the  river  hath  bidden  him  guide  their  big  raft,  —  as  if  he 
was  a  whit  better  than  the  rest  of  us  !  " 

Am-ma  smiled  peacefully.  "That  is  true,  brother,  I 
go  for  the  raft  this  very  day.  But  I  leave  a  son  in  my 
house,  if  the  luck  goes  against  me.  That  is  the  Hu- 
zoors' doing.  They  have  the  Dee-puk-rdg.  They  are  the 
Light-bringers,  the  Birth-bringers  !  " 

A  tall  man,  in  curiously  crumpled  clothing,  who  had 
just  joined  the  group,  gave  a  hollow  laugh.  "  Birth- 
bringers !"  he  echoed.  "Ay!  and  Death-bringers,  too. 
They  took  seven  in  the  gaol  last  night.  I  have  it  from  a 
sure  hand."  That  might  well  be,  seeing  that  he  was 
none  other  than  the  gosain  Gopi,  who,  scarcely  an  hour 
agone,  had  been  given  his  ticket-of -leave  and  the  clothes 
in  which  he  had  been  convicted  two  years  before.  They 
had  since  then  been  rolled  up,  and  ticketed  with  his 
name  and  number ;  hence  the  creases. 


AT  THE   GATES  1 49 

"The  doctor  cuts  a  hole  in  their  heads,"  he  went  on 
calmly,  "takes  out  their  brains,  and  puts  the  bit  back. 
Then  'tis  cholera.  That  is  why  they  burn  them  in  their 
clothing  and  their  caps,  so  that  none  may  see.  But  they 
say,  'tis  for  the  safety  of  the  living ;  as  if  that  did  not 
lie  with  the  Gods  !  " 

"  Hark  to  him  !  "  said  approving  voices.  "  Yea  !  hark 
to  him,  the  pious  one  !  " 

The  long  bazaar  lay  flooded  with  sunshine  and  life. 
The  quails  were  calling  from  their  hooded  cages,  the 
sacred  monkeys  were  chattering  about  the  sweetmeat- 
sellers'  shops,  men  and  women  were  going  about  eager 
on  their  own  affairs,  and  a  group  of  schoolboys  on  their 
way  to  a  mission  school  came  along,  their  books  under 
their  arms,  —  a  quaint  collection,  for  the  most  part.  A 
copy  of  the  Gospels,  Sa'adi's  Gulistan,  and  the  Hito- 
padesa,  certainly ;  a  treatise,  in  English,  on  the  latest 
theories  of  mind  and  matter,  equally  so;  selections  from 
general  literature,  probably ;  with  Burke's  speeches  and 
Addison's  Spectator,  possibly. 

One  or  two  of  these  boys  paused  in  their  school  talk 
to  listen,  as  a  voice  said  fearfully  :  — 

"  'Twill  be  for  'momaV  they  want  them.  Folks  say 
they  are  running  short  of  power." 

Gopi  shook  his  head.  "  That  may  be ;  but  these  are 
to  grease  the  slots  of  the  canal  sluice ;  without  it,  water 
will  not  run.  One  brain  —  his,  that  they  killed  with 
the  light  —  opened  it  but  one  inch;  as  all  can  see  if 
they  choose.  And  these  seven  will  not  go  far.  What 
matter.^  There  be  plenty  more  where  they  came 
from." 

The  gossipers  looked  at  each  other.  "  Yea !  that  is 
so.  It  opens  but  an  inch,  and  there  are  many  pris- 
oners," they  said,  with  that  curious  faculty  for  giving 
heart-whole  assent  to  the  truthful  foundations  of  a  lie 
which  makes  the  latter  go  so  far  in  India. 

The  boys  went  on.  There  was  nothing  about  the 
dynamic  and  hydraulic  power  of  a  man's  brain  in  their 
treatises ;  but,  after  all,  the  statement  was  scarcely  so 


150  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

Strange  to  ignorance  as  many  another  held  in  the  books 
under  their  arms. 

"The  times  are  bad,"  remarked  someone,  chiefly  to 
give  a  fresh  fillip  to  the  flagging  horrors.  "  They  say 
the  *  Pool  of  Immortality,'  will  be  dry  to-morrow." 

A  trail  of  saffron-robed  pilgrims  who  were  passing, 
under  the  charge  of  a  priest,  looked  at  their  guide  doubt- 
fully. If  this  was  to  be  so,  what  was  the  use  of  having 
given  him  a  rupee  each  to  be  admitted  thereto  at  the 
most  auspicious  moment } 

"  Lo !  'tis  easy  to  father  that  falsehood ! "  cried  the 
priest  in  charge,  venomously  eyeing  a  similar  figure  to 
his  own,  which  was  also  followed  patiently,  trustfully, 
by  a  band  of  men  and  women  and  children,  all  in  their 
saffron  robes.  "  When  folks  have  had  their  own  miracle 
stopped,  they  would  fain  stop  other  folks'  also.  Have  no 
fear,  my  children  !  The  sacred  water  will  rise  as  ever,  and 
send  your  souls  blameless  to  the  '  Cradle  of  the  Gods.' " 

It  would  have  been  easy  enough  for  his  rival  to  throw 
doubts  on  the  genuineness  of  the  pool  miracle,  had  it 
been  sound  policy  to  do  so ;  but  before  those  patient, 
trustful  faces,  desirous  only  to  save  their  souls  alive  at 
any  cost,  it  was  unwise  to  sap  at  the  foundations  of 
faith.  So  the  reply  contented  itself  with  assertions  that 
there  was  no  fear  either,  for  them.  Tampion  or  no  tam- 
pion, y^^/  Gorakh-nath  had  promised  to  be  inside  the  gun 
as  ever.  And  that  would  be  a  newer,  a  better,  miracle, 
than  any  other  in  Eshwara  ! 

Here  a  fresh  voice  put  in  its  word  ;  for  the  syrup- 
seller's  shop,  being  at  one  corner  of  the  central  square 
or  chowk  of  four  bazaars,  no  one  who  had  any  errand  of 
any  sort  in  Eshwara  could  fail  to  pass  it  sooner  or  later. 
Therefore,  Dya  Ram  and  some  other  pleaders,  on  their 
way  thus  early  in  the  morning  to  the  tahsil  court,  were 
bound  to  overhear  the  priest's  boast. 

"  But  most  undesirable,  nevertheless,"  expostulated 
Dya  Ram,  quickly.  "  We  have  duly  appealed  against 
the  order  to  the  higher  court,  and  our  legal  course  is  to 
await  the  result." 


AT  THE   GATES  151 

The  priest  looked  at  him,  sullenly  scornful ;  for  such 
as  he  are  no  favourites  with  the  hereditary  Levites  of 
India. 

"They^^'  hath  appealed  to  the  Gods,"  he  retorted^ 
**and  they  will  give  judgment  without  the  help  of  such 
as  thou,  pleader^/V^  /  " 

"  Hark  to  the  pious  one  !  "  murmured  the  crowd  again, 
admiringly  responsive,  as  ever,  to  a  hint  of  religious 
sentiment. 

"But  it  will  confuse  issues  —  it  is  irregular  —  and  I 
who  drew  up  the  petition  object  in  t-otoj"  began  Dya 
Ram  in  angry  protest,  when  a  friend  interrupted  him 
consolingly  in  English. 

"  True.  As  it  has  been  said,  it  is  impossible  to  serve 
God  and  Mammon  ;  yet  seeing  that  miracles  are,  as  Her- 
bert Spencer  proves,  ipsi  facto  —  " 

The  ludicrous  inadequacy  of  logic  to  the  mental  cali- 
ber of  those  around  him,  struck  one  of  the  little  party 
of  progress  keenly,  and  he  broke  in,  as  he  passed  on, 
"What  is  the  use  of  combatting  such  ignorance.?  It  is 
for  us  —  who  represent  the  intellect  of  India  —  to  pio- 
neer the  way  —  " 

The  rest  was  lost  as  the  little  party  went  on  discus- 
sing their  own  position. 

"  Mayhap  'twas  to  Ramanund's  house  the  churail  was 
coming ;  there  was  such  a  corpse  went  from  it  a  week 
or  two  since  ;  and  they  return  from  far,"  said  an  old  man, 
looking  after  the  last  speaker. 

Gopi,  the  gosain,  laughed.  "This  one,  I'll  wager,  was 
sent  back  because  of  the  canal.  Mark  my  words,  Mai 
Gunga  will  return  them  all  now.  'Tis  the  Huzoors" 
doing." 

A  curious  shiver  ran  through  the  crowd  of  men.  To 
have  your  women  against  you,  to  feel  in  your  heart  that 
they  cannot  help  being  revengeful,  that  their  blood  is 
on  your  head,  is  ever  the  greatest  of  dreads.  And  so 
many  lives  held  the  possibility  of  this  revenge. 

Am-ma,  philosophically  seated  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
group,  trying  to  sell  his  fish,  laughed  vain  gloriously  again. 


152  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

*'  Only  for  fools  !  The  m\%^-sahiba  and  the  lights,  and 
I,  can  defy  devils." 

Here  he  stood  up,  and,  with  frightful  grimaces  of  joy 
and  uncouth  salaams,  greeted  the  appearance  of  Erda 
Shepherd,  who,  in  the  mission-lady's  uniform  of  blouse 
and  skirt,  white  pith  hat,  green  veil,  and  bag  of  books, 
came  out  of  a  neighbouring  alley. 

It  was  not  a  becoming  dress.  Lance  Carlyon  told  him- 
self, as,  on  his  way  back  from  escort  duty  to  some  lin- 
gering bigwig  of  the  camp,  he,  at  the  same  moment, 
came  cantering  up  the  bazaar  towards  the  Fort. 

She  could  not  say  the  same  of  his.  It  was  the  first 
time  she  had  seen  him  in  uniform,  and  the  sight  of  the 
scarlet  and  gold,  the  buttons,  the  fal-lals  generally,  took 
her  breath  away.  There  are,  in  fact,  few  women  whom 
they  do  not  impress. 

Yet,  curiously  enough,  her  impulse  was  to  pass  on 
without  speaking ;  his,  to  do  what  he  did,  namely,  pull 
up,  dismount,  and  shake  hands.  And  still  more  curi- 
ously, the  reason  for  both  these  impulses  was  the  same ; 
the  presence  beside  Erda  of  a  tall,  rather  weedy-looking 
man,  with  a  long,  black  coat  and  a  long,  red  beard. 

**  Let  me  introduce  my  cousin,  the  Reverend  David 
Campbell,"  said  Erda,  with  great  dignity,  somewhat 
marred  by  a  fine  blush. 

"  I  thought  it  must  be,"  rejoined  Lance,  coolly.  He 
might  have  said  he  was  certain  of  it ;  that  a  fellow  could 
scarcely  feel  a  desire  to  murder  another  fellow  at  an 
instant's  notice,  unless  that  fellow  was  your  rival. 

Yet,  still  more  curiously  again,  this  notion -of  rivalry 
had  come  to  Lance  in  an  instant  also.  Before  he  caught 
sight  of  Erda  and  \\^x:  fianci  he  would  have  sworn  that 
though  he  had  been  a  bit  cut  up  at  hearing  the  nicest 
girl  he  had  ever  met  was  already  engaged,  he  had  never 
had  the  remotest  idea  of  fighting  against  the  fact.  But 
the  first  glance  at  the  two  walking  together  had  changed 
all  this.  Here  by  God's  grace  was  the  one  maid  for 
him.     And  another  man  had  — 

Not  a  bad  looking  chap,  certainly.     Better  dressed, 


AT  THE   GATES  1 53 

too,  than  most  missionaries.  That  was  because  he  was 
fresh  out  from  England.  Any  fool,  though,  could  be 
that  with  an  English  tailor.  Yes,  not  a  bad  sort ;  but 
not  the  sort  for  her. 

"You've  been  out  on  your  rounds,  I  suppose,"  he 
said,  pointing  to  Erda's  books. 

"Yes,"  answered  the  Reverend  David,  with  eager 
assent,  and  the  benevolent  smile  which  includes  the 
smiler's  own  virtue  in  smiling ;  "  and  I  have  been  privi- 
leged for  the  first  time  to  see  somewhat  of  the  noble 
work  Englishwomen  are  doing  for  their  Indian  sisters. 
It  is  no  easy  task,  Mr.  Carlyon,  for  delicate  —  " 

"I  like  it,"  put  in  Erda,  with  a  faint  frown  at  the 
missionary-report  style  of  her  cousin's  enthusiasm.  "  So 
there  is  no  use  wasting  your  pity  on  me,  David." 

"Pity!"  he  echoed,  in  appropriating  approval.  "I 
did  not  even  pity  you  when  they  called  you  evil  names." 
Being  of  the  new  school  of  Free  church  ministers,  he 
put  all  possible  ill  into  ev-il  like  any  ritualistic  curate. 

"  Do  they  call  you  names  .-* "  asked  Lance,  sharply. 

Erda  gave  a  vexed  look  at  her  cousin.  For  the  first 
time  in  her  life  the  militant  joy  at  persecution  of  the 
true  proselytizer  failed  her. 

"Sometimes,  not  often,"  she  said,  quite  apologeti- 
cally. "They  happened  to  do  so  to-day,  and  David 
heard  it ;  there  are  so  many  strangers  about,  you  see, 
who  don't  know  me." 

"  And  what  did  you  do  } "  Lance's  eyes  were  on  the 
Reverend  David  this  time. 

"  Do.?"  repeated  the  latter, in  faint  surprise.  "Nothing, 
of  course.  We  missionaries  hear  such  things  joyfully  — 
for — for  the  Work's  sake."  There  was  dignity  in  his 
tone  and  manner. 

"  By  Jove !  "  said  Lance,  softly,  under  his  breath,  "  if 
I'd  been  there,  there  would  have  been  a  row.  Besides," 
he  added,  quite  argumentatively,  "  if  I  believed  in  my 
work  as  you  do  I'd  be  hanged  if  I  let  anybody  ^krab'^ 

1  Abuse  it. 


154  ^^-^  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

it  —  or  me  —  for  it's  the  same  thing.  Not  at  least,  with- 
out trying  to  make  'em  answer  for  it  all  I  know." 

The  Reverend  David  Campbell  shook  his  head.  "  That 
is  not  our  view.  Erda,  the  meeting  is  at  nine,  and  it  is 
already  the  half-hour.  To-morrow,  you  see,  Mr.  Carlyon, 
is  our  field-day,  and  we  have  to  arrange  our  forces." 

Once  more  the  flavour  of  the  missionary  report  made 
Erda  shrink,  but  Lance  nodded. 

**  A  field-day  for  most  of  us.  I  expect  to  be  in  the 
saddle  all  day.     Good-by,  Miss  Shepherd." 

But  something  in  the  girl  rose  up  in  revolt  at  parting 
with  him  thus.  When  he  had  been  out  of  sight,  she 
had  faced  the  probability  of  never  seeing  him  any  more 
with  equanimity.  Now  she  felt  that  she  must  tell  him 
she  was  leaving  Eshwara  the  very  next  day,  or  the  day 
after  ;  that  she  must  make  this  a  real  good-by. 

"  I  have  to  see  another  old  woman  in  an  alley  close 
by  first,  David,"  she  said.  "You  had  better  go  on  and 
let  me  follow." 

Yet  when  he  had  gone,  after  another  joyously  mili- 
tant paean  over  the  work,  she  stood  silent.  It  seemed 
somehow  too  sunshiny  for  words.  Then  she  looked  up 
at  Lance,  and  her  heart  sank.  For  something  in  his 
face  told  her,  in  an  instant,  that  she  had  been  too  long 
in  letting  him  know  of  her  engagement  to  her  cousin. 
The  fact,  by  rousing  her  indignation,  —  since  it  was  im- 
possible to  go  about  proclaiming  that  you  were  not 
available  for  idle  people  to  fall  in  love  with,  —  helped 
her  to  be  hard. 

"  You  need  not  have  been  so  fierce  just  now,"  she 
said,  with  an  unreal  little  laugh.  "  People  won't  have 
many  more  chances  of  calling  me  names  in  Eshwara. 
I  told  you,  didn't  I,  that  I  was  going  ;  but  it  will  be 
sooner  than  I  expected  —  to-morrow,  or  next  day." 

"  Then  I  shan't  see  you  again  } "  He  grasped  the 
meaning  to  him  in  an  instant,  and  the  wondering  pain 
in  his  voice  awoke  an  echo  in  her  heart. 

**  I  suppose  so  ;  for  Mr.  Campbell's  appointment  will 
be  at  the  other  end  of  India ;  unless,   indeed  — "  she 


AT   THE   GATES  1 55 

could  not  withstand  his  look  —  "  my  Aunt  has  asked  a 
few  friends  in  to  tea  this  afternoon  to  say  good-by.  If 
you,  or  Captain  Bering,  cared  —  " 

**  Of  course  I'll  come,"  he  interrupted  quietly.  "  Now 
which  way  are  you  going,  for  I  am  going  too  ? " 

She  looked  at  him  helplessly.  "  But  you  can't,"  she 
began. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  can !  I'll  finish  the  smoke  you  inter- 
rupted, while  you  polish  off  the  old  lady.  They're  not 
going  to  have  a  chance  of  —  of  abusing  the  work  again." 

He  had  a  most  ingenious  way  of  appealing  to  her 
sense  of  humour,  and  though  it  was  partly  at  her  cousin's 
expense,  she  laughed  as  they  set  off  together  —  a  most 
incongruous  couple.  He  had  little  time  for  his  smoke, 
however,  for  he  had  barely  left  off  watching  the  point 
where  she  had  disappeared,  for  any  hint  of  felonious 
calling  of  names,  when  she  reappeared  in  company  with 
Father  Ninian,  the  latter  looking  almost  pope-like, 
yet  also  curiously  native,  in  the  white  washing  soutane 
and  skull-cap  which  he  invariably  wore  in  his  visitations. 
His  face  was  rather  stern,  and  he  had  his  spectacles 
on. 

"  Ah !  Mr.  Carlyon,"  he  said,  surprised  in  his  turn. 
"  I  am  glad.  Will  you  take  Miss  Shepherd  home .?  r 
want  to  go  over  to  Dr.  Dillon  at  once :  and  I  have 
advised  her  not  to  visit  in  this  quarter  to-day.  There 
are  many  lodging  houses  for  the  pilgrims,  and  —  " 

"  Did  they  call  names .? "  asked  Lance,  belligerent  at 
once. 

The  old  man  looked  at  him  sharply,  almost  angrily. 
**  No  one  ever  called  me  names,  sir ;  still  less  a  lady  who 
was  with  me.     But  excuse  me  —  I  am  pressed  for  time." 

"  Now,  that's  a  man  !  "  said  Lance,  enthusiastically,  as 
he  looked  after  the  hurrying  white  figure.  The  com- 
parison was  too  obvious. 

"  Father  Ninian  is  not  a  missionary,'  she  said  coldly. 
"It  is  easy  for  him  —  "  she  paused,  turned  to  her  com- 
panion, and  held  out  her  hand.  "  Good-by,  and  thanks  ; 
but  I  really  can  go  home  by  myself,  Mr.  Carlyon." 


156  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

"  Good-by,"  he  echoed ;  then,  holding  her  hand  still, 
a  sudden  resolve  seemed  to  come  to  him.  "But — I 
should  like  to  tell  you  something  first,  please."  — 

She  felt  her  heart  beating  everywhere  but  in  its 
proper  place. 

—  "  Not  that  it  matters,  but  I'd  like  you  to  know  it. 
I  had  some  news  by  the  mail  this  morning — bad  news." 

She  felt  her  blood  everywhere  but  in  its  normal  course, 
now,  in  sheer  shame  at  her  own  imaginations.  "I'm 
sorry,"  she  murmured. 

"  So  am  I,"  he  went  on  thoughtfully  ;  "  though  it  isn't 
bad  in  a  way  for  me.  Do  you  remember  my  telling  you 
about  my  cousin }  a  weedy  chap,  six-four.  Well,  they 
sent  him  round  the  world  for  his  health,  and  he  died 
two  months  ago,  it  seems,  in  Australia.  And  the  shock 
was  too  much  for  my  uncle ;  he  was  an  old  man,  and 
this  was  his  only  son.  So  —  so  I  am  Sir  Lancelot  now. 
It  doesn't  make  any  odds,  of  course,  but  I  thought  I 
should  like  you  to  know,  first." 

She  looked  up  at  him  as  he  stood  beside  her,  so  tall, 
so  strong,  so  young,  so  kind ;  and  though  she  only  said, 
"  Thanks,  Sir  Lancelot,  it  won't  make  any  difference  to 
—  to  our  friendship,  I'm  sure,"  she  knew  in  her  heart 
of  hearts  that  it  did.  Though  how,  she  had  not  yet  had 
time  to  discover. 


CHAPTER   XIV 

MIRACLE   MONGERS 

RosHAN  Khan  flung  his  cigarette  away,  and  walked 
up  and  down  his  quarters  in  the  Fort  like  an  English- 
man ;  he  felt  rather  like  one,  also,  in  his  vague  distaste 
for  something  which  refused  to  fit  in  with  his  previous 
experiences. 

"  So  she  will  see  my  grandmother,"  he  said,  at  last. 
"That  is  a  step,  certainly,  but  —  "  he  turned  quickly  to 
Akbar  Khdn,  "  it  seems  impossible  !  " 


MIRACLE  MONGERS  1 5/ 

The  quondam  chief-eunuch  giggled  like  a  girl.  "  Noth- 
ing is  impossible  with  women,  oh,  Protector  of  the 
Poor !  "  he  said ;  then,  with  a  jaunty  air  of  self-satisfac- 
tion, went  on,  "and  this  dust-like  one  has  experience. 
She  will  see  the  female  relation  to-night  after  approved 
custom,  and,  since  this  is  after  the  habits  of  the  sahib- 
logiiey  she  would  perhaps  see  the  —  the  Nawab-i-^/^/^  to- 
morrow." 

Roshan  wheeled  again  in  his  walk  at  both  the  title 
and  the  suggestion,  half  indignantly,  yet  with  a  reluctant 
eagerness.    "  See  —  see  me  !    Did  she  say  aught  of  it  t " 

"  A  woman's  wishes  for  a  lover  go  not  near  her 
tongue,  Htizoor ;  they  keep  to  her  heart,"  replied 
Akbar,  still  with  his  jaunty  craft;  "but  if  this  visit  of 
the  female  relation  be  auspicious,  as  God  send  it,  then 
there  would  be  no  hindrance  to  the  asking ;  and  even  if 
she  said  nay  —  " 

Something  in  his  hearer's  face  warned  the  old  sinner 
he  had  to  do  with  some  novel  code  of  conduct,  and  he 
paused,  while  Roshan  continued  his  pacing. 

He  was  disturbed  beyond  bounds.  The  foolish  dream 
of  a  foolish  old  woman  had  come  to  be  so  far  a  reality, 
that  the  jealousy  which  had  blazed  up  instinctively  at 
the  sight  of  Laila  in  that  dress — so  like  a  woman  of  his 
race — alone  with  a  strange  man,  had  come  to  be  deliber- 
ate. More  than  once  he  had  felt  inclined  to  tell  Pidar 
Nariyan  what  he  had  seen,  even  to  write  an  anonymous 
letter  of  warning.  He  would  have  done  so  had  he  seen 
any  subsequent  hint  of  intimacy  between  these  two. 
But  he  saw  none ;  on  the  contrary,  they  seemed  to  avoid 
each  other  in  public ;  and  though  this  might  be  a  blind, 
on  the  other  hand  Roshan  had  seen  too  much  of  some 
English  women's  ways  not  to  know  how  trivial  an 
offence  against  the  proprieties  it  was  to  sit  out  dances 
in  a  balcony !  Undoubtedly,  however,  this  girl,  who  had 
taken  his  presents  on  the  sly,  who  would  receive  his 
ambassadress  on  the  sly,  was  not  one  whom  it  was 
necessary  to  treat  with  great  ceremony.  She  was  what 
the  English  language  called  a  flirt ;  his  own  a  stronger 


158  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

term.  Not  that  it  mattered,  since  no  wife  of  his  would 
have  a  chance  of  amusing  herself. 

So,  after  a  while,  he  paused  to  say — with  a  scowl  for 
the  toothless  grinning  survival  of  a  past  society  —  "I 
would  I  knew  if  it  were  wise  to  trust  thee }  Why 
shouldst  thou  take  the  trouble  thou  dost }  What  is  the 
affair  to  thee  .?  " 

Akbar's  face  was  a  study  in  sheer  dignity.  **  'Tis 
but  my  duty,  Cherisher  of  the  Poor!"  he  said,  almost 
pathetically.  *'  For  what  other  service  were  such  as  I 
am  created  .-* " 

The  hateful  tragedy  of  this  confession  of  degradation 
passed  Roshan  by  ;  he  saw  nothing  in  it  but  an  appeal 
to  facts  which  gave  him  confidence. 

**Yea!"  he  said,  *' I  was  forgetting.  Such  arrang- 
ings  are  meat  and  drink  to  thy  sort.  So  take  thy  price. 
It  shall  be  trebled  if  she  bids  me  see  her  to-morrow, 
but  —  "  here  he  laughed,  half  at  himself,  —  "  thou  must 
needs  work  miracles  for  such  favour  to  come  so  soon ! " 

Akbar,  as  he  capered  off,  the  rupees  jingling  in  his 
pocket,  to  more  legitimate  and  less  lucrative  pursuits, 
winked  and  leered  to  himself  over  his  own  surpassing 
wickedness  and  wisdom.  Miracles !  Ay ;  but  it  was 
nature  worked  them,  not  he.  Given  youth,  proximity, 
a  touch  of  surprise,  a  flavour  of  the  forbidden,  and  the 
result,  in  his  evil  experience,  was  sure.  In  the  mean- 
time his  part  was  to  keep  the  ball  from  falling  until  the 
players  took  to  playing  the  game  for  themselves ;  then 
the  fun  was  over  for  the  true  go-between.  He  had  to 
take  a  back  seat  and  watch  —  h e  !  he  !  he  !  —  the  mira- 
cle !  A  pretty  miracle,  indeed !  The  idea  tickled  him 
so  that  he  could  not  keep  it  to  himself,  and  as  he  passed 
through  the  bazaar,  doing  his  daily  marketing,  he  used 
his  new  avocation  of  miracle-monger  as  a  reason  for 
good  bargains.  The  shop-keepers,  however,  shook  their 
heads.  Miracles  paid  the  priests,  and  might  suit  such 
as  he,  but  for  their  part  they  considered  that  there  were 
too  many  miracles  in  Eshwara.  What  was  the  good  of 
the  pilgrims  coming  at  all  if  all  their  money  went  to  the 


MIRACLE  MONGERS  1 59 

temples,  and  they  had  not  a  pice  left  for  a  relic,  or  even 
a  toy  to  take  home  to  the  toddlers  whose  feet  were  not 
yet  strong  enough  for  pilgrimage  ?  Whereupon  they 
would  look  discontentedly  round  the  baskets  of  Brum- 
magen  brass  gods,  the  Belgian-made  rosaries,  the  patent 
Swedish  self-lighting  joss  sticks,  the  machine-cut  obla- 
tion cups,  with  which  almost  every  other  shop  sought 
to  attract  custom.  Baskets  where  a  pious  pilgrim  could 
purchase  a  whole  pantheon,  and  secure  a  modicum  of 
divine  favour  —  all  duly  trade-marked  by  Christians  — 
for  a  few  farthings. 

"  'Tis  not  our  fault,  brother,"  suggested  a  decrepit  old 
Brahmin,  with  a  wrinkled  forehead  all  seamed  with  white 
markings,  who  —  squatted  in  the  gutter  —  was  extolling 
the  virtue  of  the  sacred  sdlig  rdmas,  made  unblushingly 
out  of  the  ball  stoppers  of  soda-water  bottles,  which  lay 
exposed  for  sale  on  a  handkerchief  in  front  of  him ;  a 
Manchester-made  handkerchief,  printed  in  the  best  style 
with  the  loves  of  Krishna.  "We  get  no  more  than  in 
the  old  days ;  nay,  less.  For,  see  you,  the  third-class 
ticket  takes  so  much.  And  that  is  the  Huzoors'  fee. 
They  send  it  all  over  the  black  water  to  make  a  moun- 
tain of  silver  in  the  streets  of  their  big  city,  London. 
Oh,  pious  ones  !     Buy  !     Buy  a  sacred  sin-expeller  !  " 

The  monotonous  cry  was  caused  by  the  appearance 
of  a  priest-led  band  of  pilgrims ;  for,  as  yet,  the  great 
throng  was  not,  when  the  whole  narrow  street  would  be 
a  sea  of  heads,  when  even  the  saffron  robes  would  be 
lost  to  sight,  and  the  only  thing  visible  would  be  the 
patient,  anxious  faces  seeking  redemption.  That  would 
come  on  the  morrow,  —  the  great  day. 

Meanwhile,  reverent  eyes  turned  to  the  bottle-stop- 
pers, and  one  or  two  hands  wandered  to  the  little  hoard 
set  aside  for  regeneration,  which  was  diminishing  so 
rapidly  under  the  claims  of  chaplets,  lights,  caste-mark- 
ings, sprinkling,  and  miracles. 

"There  be  too  many,  I  say,"  reiterated  a  radical  seller 
of  drugs.  "  If  the  Sirkar  puts  a  tax  on  my  medicine 
for  the  body,  why  not  on  thine  for  the  soul } " 


l60  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

*'  Nay,  pinsari-jee  !  "  chuckled  the  privileged  wit  and 
gossip  of  the  bazaar,  a  cobbler  who  sat  —  by  reason  of 
his  low  caste  —  at  a  decent  distance  even  from  the 
crowd  of  customers  which  was  awaiting  a  patch  on 
the  coverings  of  feet  already  worn  and  weary  with  their 
search  after  righteousness;  "'tis  a  miracle  when  folk 
buy  of  you  ;  and  that  comes  not  too  often." 

Even  the  pilgrims  laughed ;  for  laughter  at  a  ready 
gibe  comes  easily  in  India.  Yet  they,  too,  felt  inclined 
to  agree  with  the  drug-seller.  One  can  get  blas^  even 
in  miracles. 

Therefore,  naturally  enough,  when  there  was  a  choice, 
they  chose  the  newest  ones.  And  the  newest  of  all  was 
jogi  Gorakh-nath's  promise  of  defying  tampions,  and 
locks,  and  chains,  and,  as  in  other  years,  blessing  the 
crowd  of  worshippers  from  his  self-inflicted  penitentiary, 
inside  the  **  Teacher  of  Religion !' 

And  what  was  more,  he  had  kept  his  promise.  That 
very  dawn,  as  a  kind  of  walk  over  the  course,  he  had  per- 
formed the  miracle  before  a  select  band  of  pilgrims, 
V[iO^\\y  jogies  of  his  own  sect  who  were  now  engaged  in 
telling  the  tale  to  all  and  sundry  in  the  city.  What 
had  occurred  was  briefly  this.  He  had  received  his 
followers  squatted  on  the  stone  steps  in  front  of  the  gun, 
and  had  treated  them  to  a  dissertation  on  the  mysteries 
of  Yoga.  Other  less  eminent  practitioners  in  the  art  of 
miracles,  he  said,  might  have  found  it  necessary  to  with- 
hold the  sight  of  the  sacred  person  from  devoted  eyes. 
He,  however,  meant  to  show  them  his  absolute  indepen- 
dence of  the  body.  He  would  leave  it  lying  there,  dead, 
while  his  soul  went  inside  the  gun,  and  blessed  the  pious 
ones.  Accordingly  his  jaw  had  dropped ;  he  had  be- 
come rigid,  callous  apparently  to  the  prickings  of  pins 
with  which  his  assistants  strove  to  make  him  wince, 
and,  just  as  one  of  them  withdrew  a  dagger,  covered,  of 
course,  with  gore  from  his  very  heart,  a  muffled  voice 
of  blessing  had  come  from  the  very  bowels  of  the  gun. 

If  that  was  not  a  miracle,  what  was } 

Anyhow,  it  caught  on,  so  that  as  the  day  grew,  the 


MIRACLE  MONGERS  l6l 

growing  tide  of  pilgrims  passed  by  the  side-shows  run 
in  connection  with  the  Pool  of  Immortality  by  its  priests, 
and  drifted  off  to  the  opposition  show,  leaving  the 
impresarios  behind  them  in  a  state  of  rage  and  despair. 
Rage,  for  if  this  sort  of  thing  continued  on  the  morrow 
they  would  lose  their  year's  harvest,  since  the  Host  of 
God-seekers  were  ever  the  natural  prey  of  priests ; 
despair,  because  exposure  of  what  experience  told  them 
must  be  a  fraud,  would  only  result  in  counter  exposure. 
There  must  be  honour  among  thieves  to  make  the  pro- 
fession a  lucrative  one. 

So  they  met  in  conclave,  each  with  his  miserable 
earnings  in  his  hand,  to  point  the  dire  urgency  of  action, 
and  agreed  on  the  wisdom  of  finding  a  cat's-paw  to  filch 
their  chestnuts  from  the  fire. 

Thus  it  happened  that  Vincent  Bering  came  over  to 
Lance  Carlyon's  quarters  half  an  hour  before  the  time 
they  had  settled  to  start  for  the  mission  house,  and 
asked  him  to  look  sharp,  and  send  round  to  Roshan 
Khdn  to  come  along  also,  as  he  had  private  information 

—  here,  with  a  laugh,  he  threw  a  letter  on  the  table  — 
that  miracles  were  being  illegally  performed  in  canton- 
ments, and  he  expected  some  fun.  Lance  laughed  also 
as  he  read  the  following  :  — 

**To  the  Major  General  commanding.  This  is  to  give 
notice  to  all  concerned  that  illegible  miracles  is  now 
being  performed  by  bare  men  in  belly  of  great  gun, 
contrary  to  astringent  orders  issued  by  my  lord  god. 
Therefore  your  petitioners  pray  for  correct  diagnosis  of 
same,  and  removal  from  Cantonment  boundaries  with 
exhibitions  not  to  miracle  any  more." 

"  By  Jove  ! "  he  said,  "  our  petitioner  is  a  medical  man 

—  hospital  dresser,  I  expect.     Not  to  miracle  any  more  ! 

—  h'm."  His  tone  changed,  his  honest  blue  eyes 
clouded,  for,  ever  since  Erda  Shepherd  had  told  him 
what  her  future  life  was  to  be,  the  young  fellow 
had  been  painfully  aware  that  Eshwara  had  wrought  a 
miracle  on  him  ;  that  he  was  no  longer  content  to  take 
life  as  he  found  it ;  that  already  he  had  begun  to  look 


1 62  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

forward  and  think  of  what  life  would  be  by  and  by.  **  I 
expect  that  would  be  a  difficulty  in  Eshwara,"  he  went 
on ;  "  it's  an  awful  place  for  upsetting  the  proper  odds. 
Seems  to  me  impossible  to  —  to  make  a  safe  book  on 
anything." 

Vincent  Bering  shrugged  his  shoulders.  He  had 
been  in  the  highest  spirits  for  the  last  few  days.  "  A 
safe  book  !  The  dullest  thing  in  creation.  That's  why 
I  like  Eshwara.  As  I  remember  telling  you,  one  can't 
count  upon  anything  in  the  topsy-turvy  place  —  not 
even  one's  self.  They  talk  of  the  mystery  of  the  East ! 
By  George !  one  is  in  grips  with  it  here  ;  so  come  along, 
Lance  !  and  remove  miracles  from  Cantonment  bounda- 
ries at  any  rate  !  " 

They  found  the  union-jack  of  paths  obliterated  by  an 
orderly  crowd ;  for  every  hour,  almost  every  minute, 
of  the  day  had  brought  fresh  units  to  that  weary-footed, 
eager-eyed  host  of  pilgrims.  Here  and  there  amongst 
them  was  to  be  seen  the  high-twined,  badge-set  turban 
of  a  policeman,  ready,  truncheon  in  hand,  to  assert  the 
rights  of  law,  but  not  many ;  since  the  rush  of  bathers 
had  not  yet  come,  and  there  was  small  danger  to  be 
feared  from  anything  save  that  keen  desire  to  be 
cleansed,  which  showed  on  almost  every  face.  As  the 
two  Englishmen  entered,  however,  followed  by  Roshan 
Khan,  on  whose  features  that  fierce  intolerance  of  his 
race  for  idolaters  was  written  clearly,  a  murmur  of 
tense  anticipation  ran  through  the  packed  courtyard. 
The  miracle  turn  was  evidently  on. 

It  was.  Jogi  Gorakh-nath  lay  as  if  dead  on  the  raised 
stone  platform  in  front  of  the  gun,  and  two  assistants 
were  prodding  him  with  pins. 

**  I've  seen  that  in  London,"  said  Vincent,  forcing  his 
way  rapidly  through  the  yielding  crowd,  "so  I  can 
hardly  object  to  it  here ;  but  if  there  is  hanky-panky 
with  my  gun  —  " 

At  that  instant,  a  bloody  dagger,  fresh  apparently 
from  the  jogi's  heart,  was  held  up,  and  a  curious  hush 
fell  on  the  courtyard       It  was  broken  by  a  muffled 


MIRACLE  MONGERS  1 63 

voice,  unmistakably  from  within  the  gun,  and  that  was 
lost  in  a  great  roar  of  applause. 

"A  miracle  !  a  miracle  of  the  gods  !" 

Captain  Bering,  who  with  the  others  had  now  reached 
the  centre,  waited  for  the  roar  to  subside  a  little,  and 
then  his  voice  rose  and  seemed  to  crush  it. 

^^  Risaldar-sahib !  You  have  the  key  of  the  padlock. 
Take  out  the  tampion,  and  see  who  is  inside." 

As  he  spoke,  his  eyes  were  on  the  assistants,  and 
something  in  their  defiant  assurance  warned  him  that 
he  was  on  the  wrong  tack,  and  made  him  cover  possible 
discomfiture  with  the  words,  — "  If  there  is  no  one, 
then  someone  here  has  the  art  of  throwing  his  voice 
where  he  will." 

As  if  in  assent,  the  muffled  blessing  came,  louder, 
this  time,  from  the  now  un-tampioned  gun,  so  that 
Roshan's  face  showed  somewhat  scared,  as,  with  a 
salute,  he  announced  as  the  result  of  his  inspection, 
"  There  is  no  one,  sir,  I  can  see  clear  down  the  metal, 
but  —  but  the  voice  is  there." 

A  sound  of  such  fierce  approval  ran  through  the 
crowd  who  were  within  hearing,  that  Captain  Bering 
saw  instantly  that  it  would  not  be  wise  to  court  another 
failure. 

"  Close  up  the  gun  again,"  he  said  loudly.  *'  So  long 
as  my  orders  are  not  disobeyed,  and  people  keep  their 
bodies  out  of  my  gun,  their  voices  are  welcome  to  it ! 
Come  along,  Carlyon,"  he  added,  in  English,  **it's  ven- 
triloquism, of  course,  and  I'd  dearly  like  to  catch  the 
beast  who  does  it,  but  we  had  better  leave  it  alone  for 
the  present." 

Lance,  who,  in  sudden  remembrance  of  the  sound  he 
had  heard  as  he  drifted  past  the  bathing-steps  in  his 
canoe  on  the  night  of  the  dance,  had  been  vainly  over- 
hauling the  padlock  and  chain  for  signs  of  their  having 
been  tampered  with,  nodded  his  head,  and  let  the  chain 
swing  back  on  its  staple.  The  sudden  jerk  threw  a 
new  light  on  the  matter.  For  the  staple  came  out,  dis- 
closing the  fact  that  it  had  been  neatly  filed  through  at 


164  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

the  shank,  and  then  replaced  by  means  of  a  drilled  hole 
and  a  pin. 

The  proof  of  tampering  was  clear,  but  nothing  else. 

"  I  have  it,"  said  Lance  suddenly  coming  up  with  a 
red  but  triumphant  face  from  a  prolonged  inspection 
down  the  huge  muzzle,  "  they've  shoved  in  a  false  end, 
and  there's  someone  behind.  Roshan !  go  back  and 
fetch  me  my  long  gaff,  and  Roshan  !  —  my  cleaning  rod." 

"And  tell  the  guard  to  come  out  at  once,"  added  Cap- 
tain Bering,  heedful  of  the  rising  note  of  movement 
amongst  the  crowd,  sign  that  it  was  growing  restless. 

"  Stay  !  I've  got  a  ripping  idea  !  "  cried  Lance  again, 
his  face  all  abeam  with  delight  —  delight  so  catching 
that  the  crowd  stilled  as  he  turned  to  it.  "  Look  here," 
he  said  confidentially,  in  Hindustani,  "there's  a  boy  in 
this  gun.  It  must  be  a  boy,  and  rather  a  small  one,  for 
there  isn't  room  for  anything  big.  Now  isn't  there  a 
boy  anywhere  about  the  same  size  who'd  like  to  come 
and  draw  him  t  He  will  be  heads  this  way,  and  you  will 
be  able  to  get  a  good  grip  of  his  hair,  and  he  will  get  a 
grip  of  your's,  and  —  and  it  will  be  —  be  jolly!"  The 
untranslatable  word  needed  no  translation.  That  some- 
thing in  the  perfection  of  careless  youth  which  touches 
the  hearts  of  all  mankind,  put  Lance  and  his  audience 
in  touch  instantly. 

A  group  of  tall,  grave-eyed  Sikhs  laughed  uproariously, 
and  nudged  a  lad  beside  them.  "  Go  on,  brotherling," 
they  said,  "thou  art  the  best  wrestler  of  the  school. 
Go  !  show  the  Htizoor  how  thou  canst  hold  thine  own." 

It  needed  no  more.  "  Yea  !  try  thy  luck,  brotherling," 
said  a  dozen  voices,  "  and  if  thou  canst  not  we  will  find 
a  champion  ! " 

That  settled  it.  Five  minutes  afterwards  Lance  Carl- 
yon  found  himself  arranging  the  conditions  of  the  draw, 
surrounded  by  half  a  dozen  lads,  each  backed  by  eager 
supporters.  By  this  time  Roshan  had  returned,  and 
with  the  aid  of  the  gaff  and  one  of  the  smallest  of  the 
guard.  Lance's  guess  had  been  proved  to  be  true.  A 
neatly  fitting  disc  of  metal,  cup-shaped  to  increase  the 


MIRACLE  MONGERS  1 65 

resemblance  to  the  end  of  the  barrel  had  been  withdrawn, 
leaving  a  head  visible. 

"  It  is  beautifully  tousled,  and  you'll  get  a  good  grip," 
said  Lance,  regretfully,  as  he  helped  the  Sikh  champion 
into  the  gun,  "but  it  is  bigger  than  I  thought  for,  and 
you'll  have  your  work  cut  out  for  you." 

Then  ensued  the  quaintest  scene  imaginable.  The 
whole  crowd,  but  five  minutes  before  ready,  almost,  to 
fight  for  the  truth  of  their  miracle,  were  swaying  breath- 
less, excited,  in  sheer  childish  delight  over  the  tussle  to 
expose  it. 

**Lo!  he  comes  —  I  see  his  toes  —  bravo,  Gurdit ! 
Nay,  the  other  hath  strength  left !  Sho  !  sonling,  let  not 
go  for  thy  life  !     That  is  well  done  —  Bravo  !     Bravo  !  " 

So  backwards  and  forwards,  like  a  terrier  and  a  badger, 
the  draw  wavered.  Lance,  watch  in  hand,  calling  time. 

"  Half  a  minute  more  !  Go  it,  Gurdit !  "  he  shouted. 
The  encouragement  had  its  effect.  Gurdit's  toes,  his 
ankles,  his  calves  showed  beyond  the  gun ;  only  his 
knees  remained,  giving  him  grip  still. 

"  Wait  for  his  knees.  Wait  till  he  loses  grip ! " 
shouted  Lance  —  "  twenty  seconds  more — fifteen,  ten  — 
f  —  there  you  are  !  that's  it,  fair  ! !  " 

Fair  it  was ;  the  knees,  pressing  outwards  steadily, 
every  bronze  muscle  of  them  showing  the  strength  of 
the  drag,  lost  grip,  and  with  a  great  yell  of  delight,  half- 
a-dozen  bearded  Sikhs  had  hold  of  Gurdit's  feet  with 
such  a  vigorous  pull,  that  Lance  had  to  shove  his  knee 
forward,  in  a  hurry,  to  prevent  the  boy  from  falling  on 
his  face  ;  since  both  his  hands  were  locked  desperately 
in  the  tangled  hair  of  a  disciple  so  big  that  he  came  out 
of  the  gun  with  a  cloop  like  a  cork! 

"  It  was  the  most  sporting  draw  I've  seen  for  years," 
said  Lance  enthusiastically,  when,  after  much  laughter 
and  congratulation,  the  crowd  parted  with  smiles  to  let 
the  Englishmen  pass,  "and  I'm  glad  you  let  the  beggar 
off,  Bering.  It  wasn't  his  fault,  and  he  must  have  been 
beastly  uncomfortable.  Now,  if  you  could  have  quodded 
\.\\^jogi  —  " 


1 66  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

"  I  hope  to  do  that  by  and  by,"  replied  Vincent  signifi- 
cantly, "but  it  was  just  as  well  the  crowd  should  laugh 
to-day.  These  religious  gatherings  are  always  a  bit 
risky  —  and,  as  you  know,  Dillon  is  having  trouble  over 
at  the  gaol.  *Pon  my  soul,  I  don't  know  which  is  worst 
to  manage  —  fifteen  hundred  scoundrels,  or  a  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  saints." 

"  A  hundred  and  fifty  ! "  echoed  Lance,  "  will  there 
be  as  many  as  that } " 

"  Quite.  So  it  is  as  well  they  should  laugh  ;  for  even 
with  the  extra  contingent  of  police  we  should  find  it  a 
bit  hard  to  manage  them  if  they  didn't." 

True ;  but  unfortunately  the  laughter  of  the  many  in- 
volves the  discomfiture  of  the  few;  and  in  this  case, 
these  were  the  most  unscrupulous  men  in  Eshwara. 


CHAPTER   XV 

oh!    DEM   GOLDEN    SLIPPERS ! 

"  If  I  were  a  man —  I  would  fight." 

The  words  were  spoken  by  Erda  Shepherd  as  the  two 
young  men  entered  the  drawing-room  of  the  mission 
house. 

**  Let  me  fight  for  you  !  "  said  Captain  Bering,  in  his 
most  ornate  style,  as,  in  the  pause  following  on  the  in- 
terruption of  their  arrival,  he  went  forward  to  shake 
hands.  "My  sword  is  always  at  the  service  of  the 
ladies." 

Then  a  certain  feeling,  as  of  electricity  in  the  air,  a 
certain  look  on  the  faces  round  him  —  for  most  of  the 
mission  workers  had  already  arrived — warned  him  that 
this  was  no  jesting  matter,  and  he  continued  in  better 
taste,  "  I  trust  there  is  nothing  wrong  ?  " 

"Wrong!"  echoed  Erda,  who  in  a  mechanical,  abso- 
lutely indifferent  manner  was  shaking  hands  with  Lance  ; 
"  Yes !  grievously  wrong ! "  —  her  voice  was  almost  strid- 
ent in  its  decision —  "  hideously  wrong !  " 


OH!  DEM  GOLDEN  SLIPPERS!  16/ 

Here  Dr.  James  Campbell,  who  had  been  laying  down 
the  law  to  a  group  of  other  black  coats,  came  up  and  put 
the  telegram  he  was  holding  into  Captain  Bering's  hand. 

"  Perhaps  you  can  explain  this,"  he  said  severely, 
"we  generally  have  to  thank  the  military  authorities 
for  such  interference." 

"Not  in  this  case,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned,"  replied 
Vincent,  after  a  glance  at  the  first  sentence.  Then  he 
read  on,  everyone  else  in  the  room  silent,  expectant. 

It  was  from  the  Commissioner,  saying,  that  from  pri- 
vate information  given  him,  he  regretted  that,  in  the 
interests  of  peace,  he  must,  as  magistrate,  forbid  any 
street  preaching  or  public  profession  of  faith  during  the 
next  two  days.  Feeling  was  running  high  in  many  ways, 
and  it  was  necessary  to  be  extremely  cautious. 

"  I  can  assure  you,  sir,"  said  Vincent,  handing  back  the 
telegram,  "  I  am  not  the  informant.  At  the  same  time  " 
—  here  he  faced  about  to  the  room  generally —  "I  think 
the  Commissioner  is  right.  Our  government  is  neu- 
tral —  " 

"  Neutral ! "  interrupted  the  Reverend  David  Camp- 
bell, whose  blonde  face  was  flushed  with  excitement. 
"  If  it  were  neutral  we  would  not  complain.  But  does 
this  prohibition  extend  to  the  priests  of  other  religions.^ 
No  !  a  thousand  times,  no  !  It  is  only  another  instance 
of  the  fact,  that  we,  who  have  the  strongest  claim  on  a 
Christian  government  —  " 

"  Possibly,"  put  in  Captain  Bering,  "  but  I  am  only 
a  soldier.     I  do  not  ask  questions.     I  obey." 

"And  we  are  soldiers  too,"  said  Dr.  Campbell,  weight- 
ily, "and  our  orders  are  to  be  instant  in  season  and 
out  of  season." 

A  little  murmur  of  approval  ran  through  the  com- 
pany. There  was  a  militant  look  on  every  face,  a  mili- 
tant ring  in  every  voice,  as  they  discussed  what  ought 
to  be  done.  The  women  workers,  with  Erda  at  their  head, 
went  solid  for  defiance, — only  Mrs.  Campbell  making 
the  reservation  "if  James  approved."  So  did  some  of 
the  men,  notably  David  Campbell,  who  passed  from  one 


1 68  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

group  to  another,  his  pale  blue  eyes  a-glisten  with  en- 
thusiasm. 

Erda's  followed  him  with  such  approval,  that  Lance 
crossed  over  pugnaciously  to  where  she  stood,  with  a 
pretty  flush  on  her  cheeks,  listening. 

"  It  is  a  pity  you  haven't  got  Jean  Ziska's  drum, 
Miss  Shepherd,"  he  said.  "  By  Jove !  how  you  would 
bang  it!  Then,  right  or  wrong,  there  would  be  a  high 
old  row,  and  that  would  just  suit  me  !  " 

"There  can  scarcely.  Sir  Lancelot,"  — she  paused  on 
the  title  with  a  strain  after  contempt  which  did  not 
somehow  come  off,  —  "be  a  question  as  to  right  or 
wrong  in  this  case." 

He  gave  a  kindly,  almost  indulgent  laugh.  "There 
never  can  be,  really,  of  course.  One  is  bound  to  be 
right,  the  other  wrong.  The  mischief  is  to  know  t'other 
from  which !  Now  I  expect  the  sixty  thousand  nobles, 
and  the  grand-master  who  were  left  dead  on  the  field, 
and  the  two  thousand  poor  devils  who  got  drowned  in 
the  river  besides,  and  all  the  others — you  know  about 
'em,  of  course,  and  you  must  admit  he  was  a  blood- 
thirsty chap  at  any  rate!  —  had  got  a  musical  instru- 
ment of  some  sort,  too.  You  can't  fight  without  a  band, 
Miss  Shepherd,  specially  drums  and  fifes.  But  Jean 
Ziska  was  blind  ;  so  he  could  only  hear  his  own  music." 

"And  I  hear  it,  too,"  she  said  superbly,  with  all  the 
more  defiance,  because  his  words  touched  her  innate 
sense  of  justice,  as  they  did  so  often. 

As  she  spoke,  the  not  unusual  sound  —  considering 
that  one  side  of  the  mission  house  gave  on  the  city  — 
of  a  native  tom-tom  drifted  in  through  the  open  window, 
causing  Lancelot's  eyes  to  brim  over  with  smiles. 

"That  isn't  it,  anyhow,  is  it.  Miss  Shepherd.?"  he 
said.  "  I  saw  that  drum-banger  as  I  came  past  just  now 
—  the  funniest  old  dried  stick  of  a  Brahmin  you  ever 
set  eyes  on.  And  you  know  those  *  round  the  mulberry 
bushy  fairy-ring,  endless  circles  of  men  and  women 
hand  in  hand  we  used  to  cut  out  of  newspaper  when  we 
were  kids  ?     Well,  he  was  using  gilt  paper,  and  trying 


OH!  DEM  GOLDEN  SLIPPERS!  169 

to  make  a  miracle  out  of  the  *  biz '  /  One  god,  he  said, 
in  many ;  the  outline  being  the  same,  and  the  eye  of 
faith  sufficient  to  fill  in  the  details  of  divinity!  The 
people  were  buying  them  by  dozens  for  the  half  of  noth- 
ing. I  asked  'em  why,  and  they  said  as  toys  for  their 
children.  So  I  expect  it  will  be  the  endless  circle  of 
boys  and  girls  again  —  don't  you  }  For,  you  know,"  he 
went  on  in  the  confidential  voice  which,  dimly,  she  rec- 
ognized was  for  her  alone,  "  I've  never  been  able  to 
find  out  the  least  difference  in  kids.  I  talk  to  the  little 
beggars  when  I'm  out  shooting,  you  know,  and — well! 
the  boys  are  just  as  much  boys  as  I  used  to  be  —  " 

Used  to  be  !  Yet  once  again,  for  the  hundredth  time 
at  least  since  they  had  first  met,  barely  a  month  ago,  his 
youth,  his  boyish,  whole-hearted,  healthy  zest  in  life 
made  her  eyes  soft ;  made  her  feel,  with  all  the  true 
womanhood  in  her  that,  if  she  ever  had  a  son,  she 
prayed  he  might  be  like  this.  And  something  else  she 
recognized  —  not  for  the  first  time,  either;  namely,  that 
boyish,  almost  thoughtless  as  he  was,  puzzling  himself 
not  at  all  with  the  problems  of  life,  you  could  never  dip 
below  the  surface  without  finding  him,  as  it  were,  there 
before  you ;  finding  him  clear-eyed,  ready  to  treat  the 
shady  side  of  things  as  he  treated  the  light  side ;  that 
is,  with  an  absolutely  limpid  honesty. 

So,  as  she  stood  silent,  checked  in  her  desire  to  check, 
Father  Ninian,  who  had  just  entered  with  Laila,  came 
up  to  greet  her,  and  having  done  so,  turned  to  Lance 
with  kind  eyes  and  voice. 

"Captain  Bering  has  just  told  me  that  we  have  to 
call  you  Sir  Lancelot  Carlyon.  I  am  sorry  for  the 
cause,  since  your  uncle  was  a  man  who  made  the  world 
better  by  being  in  it;  —  as  —  as  you  will.  It  is  a  fine 
old  name.  Sir  Lancelot !  It  carries  with  it  a  fine  inherit- 
ance of  honour ;  therefore  I  can  wish  no  better  wish 
for  the  world,  as  well  as  for  yourself,  than  that  you  may 
hand  it  on  to  your  son.  So,  peace  be  with  you !  "  His 
clasped  hands  unfolded  themselves  for  a  space  as  he 
passed  on,  leaving  those  two  once  more  standing  to- 


170  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

gether  with  that  sense  of  being  singled  out  for  friend- 
ship which  had  come  to  them  in  the  beginning. 

And  this  was  to  be  the  end  of  it  ?  Even  to  her  it 
seemed  impossible.  To  him  it  made  the  impossibility 
certain. 

"Miss  Shepherd,"  he  said  suddenly,  "I  have  some- 
thing I  must  say  to  you  this  afternoon.  Come  into  the 
verandah,  after  you  have  done  pouring  out  the  tea,  and 
let  me  say  it." 

There  was  so  much  of  command  in  his  voice  that  she 
might  have  resented  it,  had  not  Father  Ninian's  voice 
risen  at  that  moment ;  firmly,  yet  with  its  usual  faint 
hesitancy,  in  words  which  made  everyone  in  the  room 
pause  to  listen. 

"I,  and  I  only,  am  responsible.  Dr.  Campbell.  I 
gave  the  Commissioner  the  information  on  which  he  has 
acted,"  here  he  raised  his  hand  against  interruption. 
"  I  have  been  fifty  years  at  Eshwara ;  fifty  times  have  I 
seen  the  pilgrims  pass  to  the  *  Cradle  of  the  Gods '  lis- 
tening peacefully  to  your  preaching.  But  this  year  there 
is  something  new."  He  paused  to  put  on  his  spectacles, 
yet  the  keenness  they  brought  to  his  face  was  dimmed 
by  wistfulness.  "  I  cannot  quite  tell  what  it  is.  There 
is  something  beyond  the  things  I  know,  though  these 
are  many — small,  it  is  true,  but  cumulative.  Still,  this  is 
certain  ;  the  pulse  of  the  people  beats  irregularly  to-day, 
and  that  means  danger  to  the  body  corporate.  It  may 
pass ;  yet  the  faintest  stimulus  may  upset  the  whole 
balance  of  the  organism.  So,  my  friends,  as  our  cause 
is  eternal,  as  we  have  time  —  " 

"Time!"  interrupted  David  Campbell,  passionately, 
**but  now  is  the  appointed  time.  Think,  sir,  how  many 
of  these  poor  deluded  souls,  striving  after  salvation, 
may  die  upon  the  road  to  their  false  gods  —  none  can 
know  how  many  better  than  you,  who  —  " 

The  old  priest  looked  at  the  young  one  with  a  whole 
lifetime  of  sad  wisdom  in  his  face.  "Yes!"  he  said, 
softly,  "for  I  am  very  old.  I  have  seen  half  a  world 
die  upon  its  road  to  the  'Cradle  of  the  Gods.'     Die — ■ 


OH!  DEM  GOLDEN  SLIPPERS!  I /I 

though  we  have  not  the  courage  to  say  so,  —  with  their 
faces  set  to  the  eternal  goal  of  humanity ;  to  the  finding 
of  something  we  have  lost.  And  something  keeps  us 
all  back.  What  is  it  t  Have  we  the  secret  more  than 
they,  who  say,  as  we  do,  that  it  is  sin } " 

His  voice  had  fallen  into  a  strangely  musical  rhythm, 
so  that  Dr.  Campbell's,  following  it,  seemed  harsh 
indeed. 

*'  We  know  we  have.  We  have  the  certainty  —  we 
are  missionaries  of  that  certainty  —  " 

"And  I  —  to  my  shame  be  it  said,"  interrupted 
Father  Ninian,  with  a  curious  return  to  worldly  courtesy 
as  he  removed  his  spectacles,  "have  never  tried  to  make 
a  convert ;  therefore  I  can  scarcely  hope  to  persuade 
you ;  but  if,  gentlemen,  I  might  be  allowed  to  talk  the 
matter  over  with  you  —  " 

"A  most  sensible  suggestion,"  assented  Dr.  Camp- 
bell, looking  round  on  his  younger,  less  experienced  col- 
leagues ;  "  I  should  be  loth  to  act  hastily,  and  give 
occasion  to  the  scoffer.  Mamma,  will  you  send  our 
tea  into  the  dining  room } " 

The  pure  practicality  of  the  last  words  seemed  to 
relieve  the  general  tension,  and  Vincent  Dering — who 
had  been  looking  horribly  bored  —  seeing  the  piano 
open,  sat  down  to  it,  as  the  dissentients  moved  off  into 
their  cave  of  Adullam,  and  began  to  play,  "  La  Donna  ^ 
mobile ;  "  saying,  with  a  laugh  :  — 

"  Cherchez  lafemme  !  Depend  upon  it,  Mrs.  Camp- 
bell, there  is  a  woman  at  the  bottom  of  it.  I  know  from 
personal  experience  that  she  is  always  fatal  to  my  peace 
and  pulse  on  any  road." 

Erda  Shepherd,  holding  her  head  very  high,  crossed 
over  to  pour  out  the  tea ;  whereupon  Vincent,  being 
mischievously  inclined,  suddenly  changed  the  tune  to 
"  Where'er  you  walk,"  which  he  played  daintily,  purely, 
altogether  charmingly,  so  causing  Muriel  Smith,  who 
had  lately  joined  the  party,  to  relax  her  faint  frown  at 
his  remark. 

"Miss  Shepherd  objects,"  he  went  on   provokingly. 


1/2  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

**  She  doesn't  believe  in  men  fighting  for  women.  She 
scorned  the  offer  of  my  sword  in  favour  —  excuse  me 
for  having  overheard  —  of  some  drum  or  another.  What 
was  it,  Miss  Shepherd }  I  really  only  heard  Lance  say 
you  would  like  to  bang  it." 

Erda  flushed  all  over  her  face.  "  I  was  only  alluding 
to  Jean  Ziska's  drum,  which  was  sounded  to  call  the 
Hosts  of  the  Lord  to  arms." 

Mrs.  Campbell  gave  a  fine,  hearty  shudder.  "My 
dear,"  she  said,  "  why  can  ye  not  leave  that  gruesome 
tale  alone.?  For  it's  just  an  awful  tale,  Mrs.  Smith. 
As  if  he  could  not  be  content  with  doing  his  duty  in 
this  life,  but  must  leave  his  skin  behind  for  the  next 
generation." 

"We  have  biblical  warranty  for  that  sort  of  thing, 
Mrs.  Campbell,"  said  the  sharp-voiced  lady  who  owned 
the  small  black  coat.     "Elijah  left  his  mantle." 

"  Hoots ! "  interrupted  Mrs.  Campbell,  scornfully. 
"We  all  have  to  leave  our  body-wear,  but  a  skin's  dif- 
ferent altogether.  It  sou'd  just  have  gone  to  the  grave 
with  him,  honest  man,  dust  to  dust,  ashes  to  ashes. 
I've  often  heard  Dr.  James  say  there  was  nothing  in 
the  world  for  tying  the  hands  o'  the  leevin'  like  dead 
men's  dispositions.  They're  just  a  mortification  indeed 
to  a'  concerned." 

There  was  always  something  about  the  good  lady's 
comfortable  common-sense  which  made  further  discus- 
sion difficult,  and  the  talk  wandered  into  less  rugged 
paths  until,  the  time  for  leisure  from  Erda's  duties  as 
tea-maker  being  close  at  hand.  Lance  went  out  deliber- 
ately into  the  verandah  which  overhung  the  river,  or 
rather  the  spit  of  sand-bank  which  jutted  out  from  this, 
the  turning-point  of  the  city's  triangle.  On  the  right, 
the  wall,  set  with  its  temple  spires,  trended  away  to  meet 
the  bridge,  on  the  left  to  join  the  line  of  the  palace,  the 
bathing-steps,  the  Fort.  In  front  of  him,  as  he  stood 
leaning  over  the  balustrade  at  the  western  end  of  the 
verandah,  lay  dull  streaks  of  sand,  bright  gleams  of 
water,  and  beyond  them  —  dim,  mysterious  —  was  the 


OH!  DEM  GOLDEN  SLIPPERS!  1 73 

great  level  plain  of  India,  on  whose  scarce  distinguishable 
edge  the  sun  was  setting  behind  a  bank  of  deep  purple 
cloud.  It  was  a  long,  low,  almost  level  bank,  outlined 
sharply  against  the  sea  of  golden-green  Hght  above  it. 
There  was  scarcely  a  hint  of  sunset  fire  save  in  a  trail- 
ing chain  of  little  fleecy  golden  flocks,  which  stretched 
away  from  the  purple  of  the  clouds  into  the  deepening 
purple  of  clear  sky  overhead. 

Lance,  waiting,  watched  that  clear,  almost  level,  out- 
line, until,  as  clouds  do  when  gazed  at  fixedly,  it  took 
shape  for  him  as  the  body  of  a  dead  warrior  half -covered 
by  a  pall.  The  straight  sweep  yonder  was  the  shield, 
still  held  upon  the  arm,  the  peak  of  shadow  below  it  was 
the  mailed  feet.  There  was  the  curve  of  the  throat ; 
the  head  thrown  back ;  the  feathery  plumes  of  the  hel- 
met. The  whole  world  seemed  his  bier ;  the  stars,  just 
trembling  into  sight,  the  watch-lights  round  it. 

"  Do  you  see  .^ "  he  asked,  as  Erda  joined  him.  "  From 
the  great  deep  to  the  great  deep  he  goes'' 

She  recognized  the  quotation  ;  and  though  she  had 
come  out  full  of  determination  to  deny  the  glamour  of 
their  mutual  comprehension,  it  claimed  her  in  a  second. 

"  Yes  ! "  she  answered  quickly,  and  pointing  to  the 
trailing  drift  of  cloudlets,  added,  ^^  bound  by  gold  chains 
about  the  feet  of  God'' 

He  turned  to  look  at  her  then,  forgetting  fancy  in  a 
sudden  certainty. 

**  I  thought  I  had  something  to  tell  you,"  he  said,  "  but 
I  think  you  know  it  already,  don't  you  } " 

"  Yes  !  "  she  answered,  held  captive  still  by  that  inev- 
itable understanding.     **I  think  I  do." 

He  paused  a  moment ;  then  going  back  to  the  now 
fading  likeness  of  that  dead  "King  of  the  Dead,"  contin- 
ued :  "  Then  that  ends  it  so  —  so  far  as  I  am  concerned. 
But  it  remains  as  an  excuse  for  my  asking  a  question. 
Miss  Shepherd,  why  are  you  going  to  marry  your  cousin  ? " 

She  had  known  this  was  coming.  "  For  a  great  many 
reasons,"  she  began  boldly  ;  then  paused,  wishing  for 
the  first  time  that  these  reasons  had  been  fewer,  feeling 


174  I^HE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

that  the  possession  of  but  one  would  have  made  speech 
easier.  "  To  begin  with,  it  has  been  the  dream  of  my 
life." 

He  turned  on  her  with  an  amaze  which  was  almost 
ludicrous.     *'  What  !    to  marry  him  t  " 

She  frowned  angrily,  *'  No  !  To  work  —  to  help  —  to 
give  my  sympathy — to  stand  hand  in  hand  with  someone 
who,  as  he  does,  gives  himself,  as  I  do,  to  the  great  work. 
To  someone  whose  life  will  be  mine — whom  I  can  respect 
and  admire  and  —  and  love  —  in  the  best  sense  of  the 
word  —  "  Her  voice,  gaining  confidence  from  its  own 
statements,  rose  almost  passionately. 

Lance  looked  at  her  with  his  clear  eyes,  and  nodded. 
"  Yes !  I  quite  understand.  But  what  has  that  to  do 
with  marrying  him  }  How  will  the  —  the  great  Work  be 
furthered  by  your  having  to  look  after  the  house  and  all 
that }  And  it  isn't  as  if  you  couldn't  give  the  help  and 
sympathy  without  marrying  a  fellow.  Even  the  love  — 
at  least  I  think  so.  Now,  I  want  to  marry  you,  be- 
cause—  " 

"Yes,  —  "  she  said  severely,  as  he  paused  —  she  felt 
glad  to  change  places  with  him  in  the  witness  box  — 

"  Because,  to  begin  with,  it  doesn't  seem  possible  for 
me  to  live  my  life  —  I  mean  my  everyday  life,  trying  to 
rub  along,  you  know,  without  doing  any  harm  ;  keep- 
ing things  going  as  —  as  my  people  have  always  kept 
them,  unless  you  help  me.  And  then  — "  he  paused 
again  —  "from  the  first  moment  I  saw  you,  you  reminded 
me  —  "  he  paused  so  long  this  time  that  a  faint  wonder 
as  to  what  he  was  going  to  say  next  made  her  heart 
beat,  as  she  watched  him  leaning  over  the  balcony,  looking 
dreamily  at  that  fading  likeness  of  a  dead  '  King  of  the 
Dead.' 

"  I  don't  suppose  anyone  had  a  happier,  jollier  child- 
hood than  I  had,"  he  said  suddenly,  "  though  I  was  an 
orphan.  I  lived  at  Tregarthen,  you  know."  He  turned 
to  her  as  he  spoke,  and  smiled.  "  You  should  have  seen 
my  grandfather  and  grandmother.  Miss  Shepherd.  They 
were  like  the  double  Christmas  number  of  an  illustrated 


OH!  DEM  GOLDEN  SLIPPERS  J  1 75 

paper!  She  used  to  boast  that  she  never  saw  a  naughty 
child  ;  and  she  never  did,  for  the  dear  old  lady  always 
walked  out  of  the  room  promptly  when  we  tried  it  on.  I 
remember  it  used  to  take  the  starch  out  awfully,  having 
no  audience.  But  it  was  the  same  in  everything.  It 
beat  even  a  boy  to  be  really  bad  in  that  house,  some- 
how. Yes!  we  had  jolly  times!  You  would  have  liked 
it  —  you  would  like  it  now"  —  he  turned  swiftly  and 
held  out  both  hands  —  "Come  to  it!  —  Come,  and  be 
Lady  Carlyon  as  she  was !  People  may  say  all  that 
means  nothing,  but  it  means  everything  to  a  woman  to 
be  able  to  count  on  an  inheritance  like  that  for  her — " 
he  broke  off  as  some  of  the  others  came  out  into  the 
balcony,  and  bending  closer  to  her,  went  on  in  a  low 
voice,  "I've  said  nothing  of  my  love  —  you  know  all 
that  —  and  I  think  —  Yes  !  —  "  his  voice  took  a  note  of 
certainty  —  "I  think  you  —  you  like  me  well  enough  — 
don't  you } " 

There  was  something  so  truth-compelling  in  his  face, 
his  voice,  that  she  felt  thankful  for  the  tepid  word  like — 

"  I  like  you  very  much.  Sir  Lancelot,"  she  said,  trying 
not  to  let  her  voice  betray  the  absolute  tenderness  she 
felt,  "but,  as  you  told  me  just  now,  that  is  no  reason  why 
I  should  marry  you." 

"  It  is  at  least  as  good  as  yours  for  marrying  kim,'"  he 
broke  in  quickly.  "At  least  it  has  to  do  with  you  — 
with  me — with  our  happiness  —  with  mine  at  any  rate! 
Do  you  remember  when  you  first  told  me  your  name  — 
The  World's  Desire  I  called  it  —  the  woman  with  the 
red-gold  hair,  the  red-gold  hem  to  her  garment,  the  red- 
gold  apple  in  her  hand  —  you  are  that  to  me — Erda! 
give  me  my  heart's  desire  —  " 

His  voice — low,  quick,  passionate  —  thrilled  through 
her.     She  saw  herself  as  she  had  seen  herself  then. 

"  Yes  !  it  has  to  do  with  you,  with  me  !  "  she  echoed 
desperately,  "but  only  we  two." 

"No!  — "  he  interrupted  —  "with  more  than  that, 
surely !  " 

In  the  pause  which  followed,  one  vision  faded  in  an- 


176  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

Other,  and  her  own  wish,  that  if  she  ever  had  a  son  he 
might  be  as  this  man,  came  to  make  her  remember 
Father  Ninian's  words,  "  I  can  wish  no  better  wish  for 
the  world ! " 

But  Father  Ninian  could  not  have  said  so  to  her. 
She  could  do  better  for  the  world  in  the  other  life,  the 
other  work.  The  very  self-sacrifice  of  it  attracted  her, 
vague  though  the  sense  of  that  was,  as  yet. 

"  Sir  Lancelot,"  she  said  at  last,  "  I  am  very  sensible 
of  the  honour  —  " 

**  Don't  — for  heaven's  sake,"  he  interrupted.  "That 
is  —  excuse  me  —  bunkum." 

She  felt  glad  of  the  faint  resentment  which  came  to 
her  aid.  "  I  am,  all  the  same,"  she  continued  ;  *'  but  it 
is  impossible.  Perhaps  if  I  did  not  look  forward  as  I 
do;  perhaps  if  I  only  sought  happiness;  but  — "  she 
clasped  her  hands  tightly  and  the  militant  look  came 
back  to  her  face  —  "I  am  sworn  to  another  work  —  the 
noblest  work  of  all  —  to  bring  light  to  those  that  sit  in 
darkness." 

Lance  gave  an  odd  little  laugh,  full  of  bitterness. 
"  You  leave  me  out  in  the  black  night,  anyhow,"  he 
said. 

True  enough,  in  one  way,  for  the  quick  dusk  had 
closed  in  around  them  ;  but  as  he  spoke,  a  great  white 
shaft  of  light  like  a  moon-ray  shot,  almost  as  if  in  denial  — 
widening  on  its  way,  from  the  shadowy  stretches  beyond 
the  river  ;  shot  waveringly,  as  if  uncertain,  until,  focus- 
sing itself  full  on  the  verandah,  it  turned  the  dusk  to  day. 

"  The  search-light !  "  cried  Mrs.  Smith,  clapping  her 
daintily  gloved  little  hands,  "Eugene  will  be  so 
pleased.  He  couldn't  positively  swallow  a  mouthful  at 
lunch  because,  when  he  thought  all  was  right,  some- 
thing went  wrong.  That's  why  he  didn't  come.  Miss 
Shepherd,"  she  added,  for  the  light  had  effectually 
joined  the  scattered  groups  into  one.  "  I  positively 
couldn't  tear  him  away,  but  I  made  him  promise  to  turn 
the  thing  on  here  if  he  succeeded.  And  he  has.  Isn't 
it  splendid .? " 


OH!  DEM  GOLDEN  SLIPPERS!  Ijy 

Mrs.  Campbell  looked  doubtful.  "It's  just  too  much 
like  the  last  day,  comin*  unawares,  and  makin'  a'  things 
manifest,  for  my  taste.  An'  I  wonder  what  Dr.  James 
will  say  to  itV 

"  I  wonder  what  the  natives  will  say  to  it  "i  "  said  Vin- 
cent Dering,  looking  across  at  Lance. 

"  Say  !  "  echoed  the  tart  lady.  *'  I  know  what  they 
should  say  —  that,  of  course,  we  know  a  great  deal  more 
than  they  do." 

**  And,  besides,"  added  a  new  and  gushing  voice,  "it 
is  so  beautifully,  suggestively  true.  We  have  the  light, 
we  can  light  them." 

"  Oh  !  but  that  is  such  a  bother,"  came  Laila  Bona- 
ventura's  full-throated  tones.  "  I  hate  having  to  see 
things  I  don't  care  to  see.  I  much  prefer  to  have  my 
own  candle,  don't  you  .? " 

She  had  been  finding  it  dull  work  waiting  for  her 
guardian's  return  from  the  dining  room,  even  though 
Vincent  had,  now  and  again,  found  opportunity  for  a 
word  or  look.  He  took  advantage  of  one  now  to  say, 
"  It  will  be  pleasanter  by  and  by,  won't  it }  We  must 
settle  the  time  before  you  leave." 

"What  time.'*"  asked  Muriel  Smith,  who  happened 
to  overhear  his  undertone.  She  had  been  vaguely  curi- 
ous at  their  apparent  avoidance  of  each  other,  their 
occasional  lapses  into  familiarity,  ever  since  she  had 
challenged  them  at  the  Viceroy's  party. 

"  Time  !  "  echoed  Vincent,  coolly.  "  Of  that  new 
song,  of  course.  Come  in,  Miss  Bonaventura,  let  us 
decide  about  it." 

The  girl  swept  up  her  long  lashes  solemnly.  "I 
should  think  a  twelve  beat  would  be  best,  really.  It  is 
safer  when  there  are  so  many  accidental  notes." 

His  face,  as  he  led  the  way  to  the  piano,  was  a  study. 
If  she  had  lived  her  life  in  a  vaudeville  at  the  Folies 
Bergkres  she  could  scarcely  have  been  more  at  home  in 
intrigue,  yet  her  absolute  sincerity  and  unconsciousness 
of  wrongdoing  was  as  palpable.  On  the  whole,  he  felt 
vexed ;  the  more  so  because  the  vaudeville  dialogue  proved 


1/8  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

unnecessary,  since  a  sudden  concentration  of  the  party 
to  hear  the  verdict  of  the  Adullamites,  who  at  that 
moment  came  out  of  the  dining  room,  would  have  given 
them  ample  time  for  more  dignified  conversation. 

Erda  was  in  the  front  rank  of  the  eager  little  crowd, 
her  hopes,  her  enthusiasms,  heightened  by  the  deliberate 
choice  she  had  just  made,  when  Dr.  Campbell,  as  the 
recognized  head,  began  to  speak.  They  had  come 
unanimously  to  the  conclusion,  he  said,  that  absolute 
revolt  at  this  late  hour  would  be  unwise.  Whether 
Father  Ninian  Bruce  was  justified,  by  the  circum- 
stances, in  his  adverse  report  was  another  matter.  Per- 
sonally he  denied  it ;  nor  did  he  propose  that  they  should 
sit  down  quietly  under  the  interference.  They  were 
only  forbidden  to  preach  in  Eshwara.  Therefore  they 
had  come,  again  unanimously,  to  the  resolution  of  leav- 
ing Eshwara  for  the  time  in  a  body.  It  would  be  a 
solemn  protest ;  and  they  could  thus  render  both  to 
Caesar  and  to  God,  since  they  could  preach  at  other 
pilgrim  stations  on  the  road.  It  would  be  a  noble 
protest  which  was  certain  of  proving  blessed. 

The  words  roused  no  little  enthusiasm,  mingled  with 
undoubted  relief  in  most  cases;  but  Erda,  standing  be- 
side her  cousin,  said  in  an  undertone,  "Did  you  assent 
to  that,  David  .?  " 

"  I  suggested  it,"  he  answered,  in  a  louder  voice,  not 
without  some  self-satisfaction.  "  It  appeared  to  me  to 
meet  the  exigencies  of  the  case  admirably,  and  it  will 
be  very  useful,  let  me  tell  you,  at  home.  It  will  empha- 
size the  difficulties  and  dangers  we  have  to  contend 
against.  It  will  show  our  meek  reasonableness,  and 
then  — "  he  looked  round  with  a  jubilant  smile  —  "it 
seems  to  me  such  a  beautiful  idea  that  the  only  result 
of  this  attempt  to  gag  us  will  be  that  the  thousands  of 
poor  benighted  souls  will  have  a  chance  of  hearing  the 
Truth  in  many  places  instead  of  one." 

But  Erda's  voice  broke  in  on  the  hum  of  applause 
almost  harshly,  filling  the  room  with  its  defiance.  "  I 
think  it  cowardly ;  I  would  fight  —  if  I  were  a  man." 


ECHOES  ^  179 

"  You  would  beat  Jean  Ziska's  drum  !  "  laughed  Vin- 
cent Bering,  rising  from  the  music  stool  where  he  had 
been  holding  Laila's  hand  under  cover  of  the  new  song, 
—  an  occupation  which  always  made  him  feel  as  if  all 
the  wine  of  life  had  gone  to  his  head.  *'  You  refused 
my  sword  just  now,  Miss  Shepherd,  so  I  place  my  drum- 
stick at  your  disposal." 

So,  with  a  reckless  gaiety,  he  seized  on  a  painted 
tambourine  which  good  Mrs.  Campbell  had  hung  as  an 
ornament  on  the  wall,  —  it  was  bedaubed  with  two  white 
lilies  and  a  butterfly  rampant,  — and  catching  up  a  tea- 
spoon from  the  table,  he  began  to  sing  in  his  pretty, 
light-comedy  voice,  *'  Oh  !  dem  golden  slippers  !  "  while 
the  tambourine,  under  his  skilful  drumming,  throbbed 
to  the  words  :  — 

"  Golden  slippers  on  a  golden  stair, 
Golden  slippers  on  my  tired  feet, 
Golden  slippers  dat  we  all  mus'  wear 
Becos'  dey  are  so  sweet." 

He  sang  well,  he  played  better;  and  both  voice  and 
drumming  echoed  out  through  the  open  windows. 

"They  are  singing  in  the  niissen,''  said  the  people 
in  the  courtyard  to  the  pilgrims,  who  were  still  gather- 
ing to  the  miracles,  like  moths  round  a  candle.  ''It  is 
not  wise  to  listen  ;  folk  become  as  they  are,  if  they  do." 
Some  of  the  pilgrims  laughed  and  some  stopped  their 
ears ;  but  even  so,  the  throbbing  of  the  tambourine  was 
in  the  air. 

"  Golden  slippers  on  a  golden  stair, 
Golden  slippers  on  my  tired  feet. 
Golden  slippers  dat  we  all  mus'  wear." 


CHAPTER   XVI 

ECHOES 

If  the  twopenny-halfpenny  tambourine  —  which  had 
been  bedaubed  with  its  white  lilies  and  rampant  butter- 
fly by  a  suburban  maiden  lady  for  a  mission  sale,  and, 


l80  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

remaining  over  from  that,  had  been  bought  in  at  half 
price  by  Mrs.  Campbell  for  the  adornment  of  her  draw- 
ing-room,—  had  been  indeed  Jean  Ziska's  famous  drum, 
Eshwara  could  hardly  have  been  more  restless  than  it 
was  on  the  night  after  Vincent  Bering  had  sung,  "  Oh ! 
dem  golden  slippers  !  "  to  its  accompaniment.  The  tune 
had  occurred  to  him  in  an  instant,  without  thought,  simply 
as  one  he  had  sung  more  than  once  when  doing  bones 
and  tambourine  in  a  nigger  troupe  at  a  soldiers'  sing- 
song.    He  had  meant  nothing  by;  it  and  yet  the  words, 

"  Golden  slippers  on  a  golden  stair, 
Golden  slippers  dat  we'se  got  to  wear," 

fitted  their  environment;  that  atmosphere  of  effort  after 
something  beyond,  above  the  real,  the  actual ;  the  inev- 
itable climbing  of  a  golden  stair,  the  inevitable  wearing 
of  the  golden  shoes,  the  inevitable  search  after  the 
golden  gates  which,  found,  will  open  upon  Paradise. 
True,  the  Paradise  differed  to  each  pair  of  yearning 
eyes  and  weary  feet  ;  but  ^he  longing  for  it  as  a  per- 
sonal gain,  spiritual  or  bodily,  was  identical. 

For  Paradise  is  the  Desire  of  the  World  still ;  whether 
men  find  it  in  the  good  they  lost,  or  the  Love  which  lost 
it  for  them. 

And  in  Eshwara  that  night  the  desire  rose  strenuously, 
militantly. 

Erda,  packing  her  boxes  in  haste,  since  she  and  her 
aunt  had  arranged  to  start  with  the  others  at  dawn,  felt 
as  if  she  had,  at  last,  closed  her  hand  firmly  on  the 
plough.  There  could  be  no  looking  back  now.  The 
golden  slippers  were  on  her  feet,  the  golden  stairs  before 
her,  the  golden  gates  within  sight.  She  had  said  good-by 
to  Lance  without  a  quiver.  She  even  smiled  softly,  ten- 
derly, as  she  set  an  unopened  deal  box  to  go  with  her 
others.  It  was  one  which  the  Reverend  David  had 
brought  with  him  from  England,  and  which  had  been 
made  over  to  her,  not  without  nods  and  winks,  smiles 
and  suspicions  of  tears,  from  her  aunt.  For  it  con- 
tained the  wedding  dress.     It  was  a  Moravian  wedding 


ECHOES  l8l 

dress  of  the  old  style,  to  suit  Erda's  fancy ;  and  she  had 
been  quite  anxious  to  see  the  delicate  white  muslin  robe 
and  the  quaint  little  cap,  with  its  bunch  of  orange  blos- 
soms, which  was  to  mark  her  as  both  bride  and  matron. 
But  it  had  seemed  a  pity,  in  careful  Mrs.  Campbell's 
opinion,  to  unpack  it  only  to  repack  it,  and  run  the  need- 
less risk  of  crushing  its  daintiness.  So  there  in  its  box 
it  lay  still,  untouched,  unseen. 

Tliere  would  be  real  orange  blossoms  and  to  spare,  the 
girl  told  herself  with  a  smile,  in  the  garden  at  Herrnhut ; 
for  so  the  summer  resting-place  of  the  mission  had  been 
called  in  deference  to  the  Moravian  extraction  of  those 
who  had  built  it  and  started  the  Christian  settlement  in 
the  tiny  valley  in  which  it  stood.  This  lay  some  thirty 
miles  up  the  Hara,  beyond  the  first  range  of  hills ;  and 
the  river,  fresh  from  its  mad  rush  from  the  snows 
beyond,  ran  through  it  slackly,  peacefully,  before  begin- 
ning its  long,  swift,  yet  smooth,  slide  down  the  dark 
ravine  which  cleft  the  outer  range,  until  it  ended  in  the 
plains  at  Eshwara. 

It  was  at  Herrnhut  that,  every  year,  in  turns  of  two 
months  during  the  hot  weather,  the  missionaries  ex- 
changed work  in  the  bazaars  for  the  lighter  labor  of  the 
agricultural  settlement.  Naturally,  therefore,  it  was 
looked  on  as  a  sort  of  holiday  house ;  but  this  year  it 
would  be  something  more.  It  would  be  the  headquarters 
of  fight,  the  centre  of  the  resistance  which  was  to  use 
the  Commissioner's  order  to  cease  firing  as  an  excuse 
for  a  more  determined  skirmishing.  For  it  stood  right 
on  the  pilgrims'  road.  Indeed,  Erda  and  the  other  rebels 
would  have  to  travel  a  good  eight-and-twenty  miles  along 
that  very  road  itself  before  coming  to  the  slack  water 
where  they  could  cross  the  river  by  a  ferry,  and  finish 
their  journey  through  the  level  fields  on  its  further  side 
to  Herrnhut,  with  its  homelike,  peaceful  surroundings. 
The  memory  of  them  came  to  Erda,  making  her  sense 
of  that  inevitable  climbing  of  the  golden  stair  after 
righteousness  more  acute ;  since  she  had  to  face  a 
good-by  to  them  also.     And  sooner  than  she  had  ex- 


1 82  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

pected,  for  the  breaking  up  of  winter  work  a  week 
earlier  than  usual,  owing  to  this  secular  interference, 
had  made  David,  eager  to  begin  anew,  plead  for  a 
speedier  wedding.  So  there  were  only  two  or  three 
days  left,  at  most. 

The  knowledge,  however,  brought  her  no  doubt ;  it 
helped  her,  rather,  to  a  greater  certainty. 

She  had  done  right.  Her  feet  were  indeed  upon  the 
golden  stair! 

And  in  the  other  houses  of  the  mission,  where  every- 
one was  disregarding  sleep  in  the  striving  after  some- 
thing that  was  more  to  them  than  sleep,  the  atmosphere 
was  electric  also,  the  thoughts  militant. 

So  they  were  in  the  streets,  the  alleys  of  the  town  ; 
for  on  the  bridge  of  boats  —  that  bridge  which  spanned 
the  broad  expanse  of  water  between  the  city  and  the 
great  plain  of  India — the  pilgrims  were  passing,  now,  in 
an  unending  stream — to  take  up  their  places  as  near  as 
might  be  to  the  Pool  of  Immortality,  where,  with  the  dawn, 
the  water  would  rise  miraculously  for  the  cleansing  of  sin. 

''Hdri!     Hdrd!     Hdrd !     Hdrtf' 

The  cry  was  almost  incessant,  but  the  eye  could  see 
little,  for  the  moon  was  young,  the  night  dark. 

^^Hdrd!     Hdri!     Hart!     Hdrd!'' 

Hour  after  hour  it  came,  that  cry  on  the  dread  Cre- 
ator, the  dread  Destroyer.  Monotonous,  patient,  almost 
indifferent,  yet  absolutely  insistent. 

The  golden-shod  feet  of  the  pilgrims,  after  whose 
souls  the  missionaries  yearned,  were  on  the  golden  stair 
also,  and  their  golden  gates  would  open  at  the  'Cradle  of 
the  Gods ' ;  must  open,  hidden  though  the  goal  was  by 
mist  when  it  was  day,  by  darkness  when  it  was  night. 

What  matter  if  it  was  hidden .?  For  the  gold-shod 
feet  might  falter  and  fall  ere  that  goal  was  reached ;  but 
the  hidden  spring  of  cleansing  at  the  Pool  of  Immortal- 
ity was  theirs.  It  would  rise  at  dawn ;  rise  as  it  did 
always,  every  year. 

''Hdrd!     Hdri!     Hdri!     Hdrd!'' 

What  matter  Birth  or  Death,  if  the  finding  of  that 
lost  paradise  of  purity  was  certain. 


ECHOES  183 

Out  on  the  bridge,  whence  the  cry  came  oftenest, 
there  was  no  doubt  regarding  this  certainty  ;  but  as  each 
weary  pair  of  feet  stumbled  on  the  first  stones  of  the 
town,  it  stumbled  into  an  atmosphere  in  which  nothing 
seemed  sure,  save  that  there  was  change ;  that  Eshwara 
was  not  what  it  had  been. 

To  begin  with,  it  held  soldiers.  Wherefore.?  And 
why  had  dead  women  been  sent  back  to  it  by  Mother 
Ganges  to  curse  the  men  whose  love  had  killed  them } 

But  what  wonder,  when  the  very  logs,  the  fishes,  were 
stolen  from  the  river  nowadays  ;  and  from  the  people 
also.  Then  what  of  this  strange  new  light }  The  light 
which  fed  on  men's  brains !  —  that  came  and  went  at 
pleasure  —  that  was  quite  small  at  first,  when  but  seven 
or  eight  men  had  been  sacrificed,  but  which,  only  an 
hour  or  so  agone,  had  showed  in  a  huge  ray,  feeling 
here  and  there  through  the  darkness  for  God  knows 
what,  then  settling  on  it,  making  it  impossible  to  hide 
aught,  prying  into  the  very  Holiest  of  Holies  !  Had  it 
not  shot  into  Mother  Kali's  very  temple,  and  shown  the 
worshippers  that  two  of  her  mighty  arms  were  stuck  on 
with  sealing  wax  !  What  God  would  stand  that !  And 
how  could  the  very  Gods  themselves  work  miracles 
if  everybody  could  see  how  they  were  done } 

They  had  already  refused  to  work  them  for  pious  7^^* 
Gorakh-nath.  What  wonder  t  The  Gods  did  not  like 
laughter,  especially  the  laughter  of  M'lUchas} 

Therefore,  who  was  to  tell  if  the  spring  would  even 
rise  in  the  Pool }  So  those  who  were  wise  would  make 
certain  of  at  least  a  modicum  of  salvation,  and  go 
straight  to  the  bathing-steps ;  since  the  river,  anyhow, 
must  be  there. 

This  suggestion  of  a  cautious  hedge  was  diligently 
spread  by  the  hsithmg-^/iat  priests  among  the  new 
arrivals;  who  listened  patiently.  But  so  they  did  also 
to  the  other  priests  whose  business  it  was  to  scorn  the 
possibility  of  failure,  and  to  deny  the  displeasure  of  the 

1  Lit. :  outcasts,  used  as  a  term  of  abuse  for  Europeans. 


1 84  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

Gods.  To  say  that  jogi  Gorakh-nath  had  been  found 
out  by  the  Huzoors  in  one  of  his  usual  tricks  ;  that  was 
all.  So  that  people  who  wanted  the  genuine  article,  and 
a  real,  good,  old  crusted  miracle,  had  better  come  as 
usual  to  the  Pool. 

The  weary-footed,  anxious-eyed  climbers  of  the  golden 
stairs  listened  patiently,  silently,  even  when  the  antago- 
nists began,  in  vehement  quarrel,  to  bandy  threats,  and 
hint  at  worse  portents  to  come.  To  their  experience, 
their  hope,  it  seemed  impossible  even  to  dream  their  pil- 
grimage in  vain.  The  dawn  would  show,  anyhow.  So 
hour  by  hour,  minute  by  minute,  the  tide  of  pilgrims  set 
citywards  till  it  brimmed  over  with  faith  and  hope.  And 
these  are  dangerous  things  when  charity  depends  on 
them,  and  there  are  antagonistic  claims  to  every  alms. 
So  Eshwara  was  restless. 

Over  in  the  gaol,  also,  by  which  the  golden-shod  feet 
passed  so  closely  with  their  heart-stirring  cry,  it  seemed 
as  if  Vincent  Bering's  thrumming,  following  as  it  did 
on  the  heels  of  Eugene  Smith's  success  with  the  search 
light,  had  set  what  Dr.  Dillon  called  his  Hosts  of  the 
Devil  in  commotion.  Indeed,  that  thrumming  was 
still  going  on  when  George  Dillon  had  gone  raging  over 
to  conjure  the  experimenter,  with  oaths,  to  turn  off  his 
confounded  bull's-eye  at  once,  or  the  prisoners  would  go 
out  of  their  judgment  with  thinking  of  the  number  who 
would  have  to  die  that  night  in  order  to  keep  up 
the  supply  of  brain  power  !  — just  too,  as  he  had  been 
congratulating  himself  that  the  cholera  scare  was  over. 
Seventy-two  hours,  and  not  a  case !     It  was  too  bad  ! 

Eugene,  whom  he  found  on  the  roof  of  his  house  play- 
ing with  coils,  batteries,  accumulators,  had  suggested 
eagerly  that  if  there  was  real  trouble,  he  might  end  it 
by  turning  his  light  bang  on  to  the  gaol,  and  so  reducing 
it  to  a  paralysis  of  sheer  terror.  Dr.  Dillon,  however, 
had  sworn  violently  that  he  would  not  have  the  poor 
wretches  frightened  unnecessarily,  especially  when  that 
triumphant  cry  of  those  who  were  free  to  defy  the  devil 
by  seeking  sanctification  before  death  reminded  them 


ECHOES  185 

that  t/iejy  could  not  —  that  they  must  die  defiled,  helpless, 
hopeless !  That  fear  was,  he  said,  in  a  way  dignified, 
worthy  of  consideration.  And  he  did  not  anticipate 
trouble  unless  there  was  treachery  inside  or  out,  though 
perhaps  he  might,  as  a  precaution,  ask  Bering  for  an 
extra  guard.  But  when  the  latter  happened  to  come  in, 
as  Mrs.  Smith's  escort  home,  while  the  doctor  was  still 
there.  Dr.  Dillon  apparently  changed  his  mind.  Any- 
how, he  pooh-poohed  Captain  Dering's  offer  to  send  one, 
saying,  the  more  you  could  keep  a  gaol  to  yourself  the 
better  —  or  for  the  matter  of  that  anything  else  !  So, 
with  a  curt  good-night  to  Mrs.  Smith,  he  went  back  to 
his  work,  leaving  Vincent  to  remark,  carelessly,  that- 
Dillon  seemed  in  a  bad  temper.  At  which  Muriel 
smiled.  There  was  something  in  the  air,  she  said,  con- 
ducive to  bad  temper.  She,  herself,  felt  she  must  soon 
have  quarrelled  with  the  doctor's  assumption  of  knowing 
better  than  anyone  else ;  so  it  was  as  well  he  had  not 
stopped  to  dinner.  Her  quarrelsomeness  did  not,  how- 
ever, extend  to  Vincent,  who  did  ;  indeed,  she  made  her- 
self so  tenderly  charming  and  unconsciously  friendly 
towards  him  that  he  began  to  accuse  himself  of  having 
been  too  irresponsive  of  late.  The  fact  of  being  in  love 
did  not  preclude  friendship  for  someone  else,  if,  indeed, 
he  was  really  in  love  with  Laila  Bonaventura  .•*  In  one 
way  he  knew  himself  to  be  so ;  but  the  idea  of  treating 
this  love  of  his  on  conventional  lines  was  still  repugnant 
to  him  ;  the  thought  of  her,  as  his  wife,  barely  attractive. 

So,  after  a  time  spent  pleasantly  enough  for  those 
two,  Eugene  Smith  went  off  to  his  coils,  and  accumu- 
lators, and  batteries,  half-sulky,  half-bored,  and  wholly 
ill-used  at  having  to  switch  off,  when  he  had  at  least 
half  an  hour's  electricity  all  ready  stored  for  use. 

He  was  grumbling  over  this  fact  when  Vincent  called 
good-night  to  him  before  starting  to  drive  back ;  and  he 
answered  that  but  for  fools,  who  were  afraid  of  going  to 
their  proper  place,  he  might  have  given  Dering  electric 
light  on  the  road. 

**  No,  thanks  !  "  cried  Vincent,  gaily,  "there's  enough 


1 86  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

electricity  in  the  air  to-night  without  that.  I  believe 
your  machine  has  leaked,  Smith  !  I  feel  as  if  I  should 
give  out  sparks  if  anyone  touched  me!  " 

As  he  drove  across  the  bridge  Eshwara  looked  as  if 
it  were  doing  that,  too.  There  were  lights  everywhere, 
twinkling,  little,  restless  lights.  The  very  spit,  usually 
dark  with  the  darkness  of  primitive  life  after  sundown, 
was  alive  with  them ;  for  the  pilgrims  were  camping 
there,  as  elsewhere.  Nor  were  all  the  fisher  folk  abed 
as  usual,  for  that,  surely,  was  one  of  them  paddling  up 
stream  on  a  dug-out,  —  just  under  the  last  span  of  the 
bridge.  He  saw  the  man  distinctly,  not  five  yards  from 
him  in  the  flash  of  the  lamps  as  he  drove  past  overhead, 
and  wondered  what  the  mischief  the  fellow  was  doing  at 
that  time  of  night,  going  up  stream. 

Something  to  be  ashamed  of,  no  doubt,  else  why 
should  he  have  sent  the  dug-out  beyond  the  circle  of 
light  with  a  swift  stroke } 

Truly  Father  Ninian  was  right ;  Eshwara  was  not 
normal.  Its  pulse  beat  irregularly,  and  things  were 
going  on  which  should  not  be  going  on  — 

A  sudden  shame  made  him  glance  at  the  shadowed 
pile  of  the  palace  looming  above  the  shadowed  town. 
It  was  all  dark,  save  for  one  row  of  restless,  twinkling 
lights.  Those  were  the  little  latticed  windows  of  Laila's 
sitting-room,  that  was  fit  for  any  king's  favourite.  He 
had  seen  it  already,  might  see  it  again  at  twelve,  if  she 
was  in  one  of  her  reckless  moods  when  she  would  risk 
anything  for  his  sake. 

Truly  !  there  were  things  going  on  !  — 

But  this  was  between  themselves ;  this  could  hurt  no 
one.  By  and  by,  of  course,  he  would  insist  on  a  com- 
monplace engagement,  and  a  wedding.  Yes  !  a  common- 
place wedding.  He  had,  despite  his  vague  repugnance 
to  her  origin,  made  up  his  mind  to  that.  No  one  but 
an  utter  cad  could  take  what  he  was  taking,  and  then 
shake  his  bridle  rein  and  ride  away.  But  for  the  pres- 
ent, it  was  the  most  absolutely  perfect  bit  of  romance 
in  his  whole  life.      He  could  not,  would  not  give  it  up. 


ECHOES  187 

Laila  was  right !  This  was  the  essence.  As  a  rule, 
people  mixed  love,  diluted  it,  were  vaguely  ashamed  of 
its  absorbing  influence.  But  when  you  came  to  analyze 
even  the  diluted  feeling,  its  virtue  lay  in  this  irrational 
content,  this  desire  for  nothing  better  than  this  best  of 
pleasures  —  this  paradise  of  a  woman's  or  a  man's  love. 

He  laughed,  suddenly,  at  the  memory  of  Laila's  quick 
grasp  of  his  meaning  when  Muriel  had  overheard  his 
remark  about  the  time.  Such  quickness,  in  the  latter, 
would  have  made  him  revolt  from  it ;  but  with  Laila  it 
was  different.  A  passionate  gratitude  to  the  girl  to 
whom  fear,  remorse,  the  very  possibility  of  change 
seemed  unknown,  rose  up  and  claimed  him.  Dear  little 
girl !  She  was  so  absolutely  single-minded  in  her  love 
for  him.  How  could  anyone  expect  him  to  forego  the 
luxury  of  such  love  yet  awhile  .^ 

In  thinking  Laila  single-minded,  Vincent  thought  the 
truth,  so  far  as  he  was  concerned.  If  love,  passionate 
as  Juliet's,  and  far  more  innocent  in  one  way,  far  more 
nis^  in  another,  ever  existed,  hers  was  that  love.  Never- 
theless, its  very  integrity  made  her  curiously  cunning 
in  regard  to  anything  which  threatened  to  disturb  that 
idyll  in  the  garden.  So,  at  that  very  moment,  when 
Vincent  looked  up  at  her  windows  asserting  her  absolute 
lack  of  pretence  and  single-mindedness,  she  was  pitting 
her  wits  against  old  Akbar  Khan  in  a  manner  worthy 
of  her  grandmother,  Anari  Begum  ;  since  Akbar,  far 
more  than  her  guardian,  was  to  be  feared.  The  latter, 
honest  man,  went  to  his  bed,  beyond  the  chapel,  at  ten 
of  the  clock  precisely ;  but  Akbar,  who  from  ancient 
habit  was  given  to  prowling  about  at  night,  and  napping 
in  odd  corners,  had  many  chances  of  discovery.  During 
the  last  few  days,  however,  when  she,  for  her  own  pur- 
poses, had  let  him  talk,  he  had  become  so  garrulous 
regarding  his  past  that  she  had  recognized  in  him  an 
unscrupulous  confidant,  with  whom,  in  face  of  the  pos- 
sibility of  requiring  one,  it  was  wise  to  remain  on  terms. 

So,  as  she  lounged  on  the  sofa,  she  listened  to  his 
endless  talk  with  tolerance. 


1 88  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

"  Nay  !  "  she  interrupted  at  last.  "  If,  as  thou  sayest 
she  will,  she  brings  me  more  dresses  and  jewels,  she 
may  call  me  Begum,  and  hint  at  my  being  one,  really,  a 
thousand  times  over!  Why  not?  Begum  and  Princess 
are  the  same,  and  my  great-grandmother  in  Italy  was 
that.     Pidar  Nardyan  told  me  so  to-day." 

The  memory  of  the  old  man's  voice,  when,  with  new- 
found courage,  she  had  questioned  him  concerning  those 
old  days,  made  her  eyes  soft.  Yes  !  he  would,  he  must 
understand.  So,  by  and  by,  when  Vincent  and  she 
were  tired  of  playing  Romeo  and  Juliet  (the  story  of 
the  star-crossed  lovers  had  been  her  only  reading  since 
Vincent  had  taken  to  quoting  so  much  from  it)  they 
would  make  Pidar  Nardyan  play  Friar  Laurence,  and 
marry  them  on  the  sly.  That  would  be  so  much  more 
amusing  than  a  regular  wedding.  He  could  not  refuse, 
since  he  had  once  loved  as  she  loved.  You  could  hear 
that  in  his  voice ;  after  how  many  years }  —  fifty  or 
sixty !  And  the  Princess  had,  of  course,  loved  also  in 
exactly  the  same  way.  Laila  felt  sure  of  it.  That 
curious,  inexpressible  feeling  had  come  to  her  also. 
Laila,  trying  to  formulate  that  feeling,  slipping  her  heel 
idly  in  and  out  of  her  dainty  little  bronze  shoe  as  she 
lounged,  suddenly  remembered  Vincent's  song  to  the 
tambourine,  and  laughed.     That  was  it ! 

"  Golden  feet  upon  a  golden  stair." 

That  expressed  it  exactly.  Two  pair  of  feet  going 
side  by  side  up  a  golden  stair,  to  golden  gates.  So  con- 
tented. Ah,  God  !  how  content !  Seeking  something, 
claiming  something,  yet  still  content.  That  feeling 
came,  sometimes,  when  you  were  saying  your  prayers. 
A  sort  of  yearning  for,  a  sort  of  satisfaction  /V^,  some- 
thing that  was  not  you ;  so,  surely  if  it  came  then,  there 
could  be  no  harm  in  it. 

Harm  !  The  very  sisters  allowed  that  you  must  love 
the  man  you  were  going  to  marry.  And  she  and  Vin- 
cent would  be  married  by  and  by  and  live  happily,  for 
that  was  better  than  having  a  ^^  statue  of  pure  gold'' 


ECHOES  189 

erected  to  you !  In  the  meantime,  secrecy,  so  long  as 
Vincent  wished  to  play  Romeo  and  Juliet,  was  her  cue ; 
therefore,  the  more  she  could  blind  old  Akbar,  the  more 
he  could  be  turned  on  a  wrong  track,  the  better.  Espe- 
cially when  the  turning  was  so  delightfully  ridiculous  ! 

She  managed,  however,  not  to  laugh  her  childish  love 
of  mischief  into  Mumtaza  Mahal's  very  face  when, 
after  much  shrinking  into  white  sheets  held  up  as 
screens,  and  quick  cuddlings  into  corners  at  the  faintest 
suspicion  of  a  possible  peep,  that  good  lady,  in  her  very, 
very  best  pink  satin  continuations,  was  ushered  in 
through  the  dark  deserted  passages  of  the  palace,  to 
Laila's  boudoir.  For,  despite  the  amusement,  the  girl's 
heart  was  beating  fast  with  determination  to  climb  her 
golden  stairs  without  interruption.  So  she  allowed  her- 
self to  be  kow-towed  to,  and  called  ^^gwm-sahiba ;  and 
she  accepted  the  new  dress  and  jewels  without  protest. 
Eagerly,  in  fact,  since  they  were  far  more  gorgeous  than 
the  first,  and  caught  her  taste  better.  The  former, 
indeed,  had  been  Roshan  Khan's  own  choice,  dictated 
by  his  acquired  knowledge  of  the  sort  of  things  mem- 
sahibs  admired ;  these  latter  were  her  grandmother's, 
purely,  entirely  oriental.  The  difference  was  great. 
Put  briefly,  this  was  the  costume  in  which  Anari  Begum 
had  flouted  the  Nawab,  the  other  that  in  which  she  had 
caught  Bun-avatar's  fancy. 

Laila  took  up  one  of  the  heavy,  gorgeous,  glittering 
garments.  It  smelt  strongly  of  musk,  attar  of  roses, 
and  jasmin,  and  she  snuffed  at  it  with  a  smile.  That 
was  ever  so  much  better  than  the  dull  lavender  water, 
which  was  the  only  scent  her  guardian  said  a  lady  could 
use.  Vincent  would  like  that ;  he,  like  she  did,  loved 
strong  scents.  If  only  the  stupid  old  frumpish  thing 
would  go  away  in  time,  she  would  put  on  that  dress  at 
once,  and  so  give  him  pleasure.    That  was  all  her  thought. 

As  she  sat,  with  a  happy  smile,  her  face  half-buried 
in  a  tiny,  three-cornered  corselet  of  scarlet  net  em- 
broidered in  seed  pearls,  Mumtaza  and  Akbar  Khan 
winked  at  each  other ;  and  Laila's  sharp  eyes,  catching 


I90  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

this,  brimmed  over  with  laughter.  She  felt  glad  the 
rest  of  her  face  was  hidden,  until  she  was  grave  enough 
to  reply  graciously  to  the  hints,  the  suggestions  ;  for 
Mumtaza  had  been  bound  over  by  oaths  not  to  go  too 
fast,  and  she  obeyed  her  instructions. 

Even  so,  Akbar  Khan,  listening  with  folded  hands  in 
a  mantis-like  attitude,  his  angles  all  crushed  together 
into  humility,  wondered  if  he  was  standing  on  his  head 
or  his  heels,  as  he  heard  Laila  admit,  gravely,  that  she 
was  certainly,  in  a  way,  the  head  of  the  family,  in  that 
she  possessed  its  land;  but  that,  of  course,  Roshan  was 
really  the  heir.  That  it  had  given  her  great  gratifica- 
tion to  see  how  thoroughly  he  had  adopted  English 
ways.  That,  of  course,  it  would  be  impossible  for  him 
to  marry  an  uneducated  cow  of  a  girl.  Here,  for  a 
moment,  she  had  relapsed  to  sincerity  in  order  to  re- 
mark that  it  must  be  impossible  to  love  a  person  you 
had  not  seen,  and  that  for  her  part,  she  knew  in  an  in- 
stant if  she  was  going  to  like  or  dislike  people.  If  the 
latter,  she  tried  never  to  see  them,  really,  again.  Then, 
remembering  her  part,  she  had  resumed  it  hastily  by 
saying  that  no  doubt  she  would  see  more  of  her  cousin, 
—  who,  by  the  way,  was  very  nice-looking,  —  in  the 
future,  as  he  was  quite  in  society. 

Old  Mumtaza  had  hard  work  at  this  juncture  to  pre- 
vent herself  from  cracking  all  her  finger-joints  over  the 
girl's  head  for  luck,  and  wishing  her  a  numerous  off- 
spring ;  while  Akbar  gave  a  gasp  that  was  not  all 
pleasure.  He  felt  that  he  was  being  rushed,  that  the 
crisis  might  come  before  he  was  ready  for  it.  At  this 
rate,  Pidar  Narayan  would  have  no  chance  of  dying. 
At  this  rate,  Roshan  Khan's  castle  in  the  air  must 
topple  over  from  sheer  lack  of  foundation  to  such  a 
lofty  structure. 

As  he  trotted  back  beside  Mumtaza's  curtained  dhooli 
to  that  little  parasite  of  a  house  against  the  palace  wall, 
where  he  knew  Roshan  was  waiting  for  the  upshot  of 
the  interview,  his  one  consolation  was  that  bow-strings 
were  out  of  fashion ! 


ECHOES  191 

In  truth,  there  was  no  more  restless  man  in  Eshwara 
that  night  than  Roshan  Khan.  The  desire  for  this 
paradise  had  grown  overwhelming,  and  as  he  listened  to 
his  grandmother,  while  Akbar  pointed  each  triumphant 
appeal  of  the  old  lady's  with  a  helpless  ^^Gereeb-pun-wdzP 
his  face  grew  pale  with  emotion ;  until,  at  the  mention 
of  his  good  looks  and  Laila's  desire  to  see  him,  he  turned 
fiercely  to  the  go-between,  and  bade  him  fix  a  time ;  the 
sooner  the  better ! 

Akbar  felt  inclined  to  tell  the  truth  then.  To  admit 
that  he  had  never  breathed  a  word  of  Roshan's  preten- 
sions to  the  M.is>s-sahiba,  and  that,  so  far,  the  negotia- 
tions only  existed  in  his  own  imaginings.  But  the  look 
on  Roshan's  face  —  he  had  seen  it  often  in  his  youth  in 
connection  with  women,  and  sacks,  and  bow-strings  — 
reduced  him  to  protestations.  He  would  do  his  best, 
he  said,  but  with  Pidar  Narayan  it  would  be  difficult  to 
manage. 

Roshan  strode  about  the  little  courtyard  like  a  wild 
beast  in  a  cage,  biting  his  mustache,  and  thinking. 
Then  he  turned  to  the  old  phrase-monger. 

"I  have  settled  it.  Before  dawn  to-morrow  —  not 
this  dawn,  that  is  too  nigh  on  us  now — but  the  next, 
thou  shalt  let  me  into  the  garden.  Thou  knowest  the 
little  balcony  which  was  not  lit  up }  I  will  stay  there, 
waiting,  till  she  come  for  an  early  walk  among  the 
flowers.  That  can  be  managed.  Then,  if  the  coast  is 
clear,  we  can  meet  and  talk.  If  not,  there  is  no  harm 
done,  for  I  can  slip  into  the  stream  and  swim  back. 
That  will  be  best,  since  it  is  not  possible  by  day,  and  at 
night  the  mems  do  not  receive  visitors,  as  we  do,  with- 
out reproach." 

Roshan's  knowledge  of  etiquette  was  sound,  yet  at 
that  very  moment  Laila,  ablaze  with  gold  and  jewels, 
was  meeting  her  lover's  eyes  with  a  happy  laugh. 

"What's  in  a  dress .?"  she  paraphrased,  "it  is  no  part 
of  me ! " 

Was  it  not }  Never  had  Vincent  seen  her  look  like 
this ;  so  absolutely  desirable,  so  perfectly  adorable. 


192  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

He  caught  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her.  The 
heavy  scent  upon  her  dress  assailed  him.  She  looked  up 
into  his  eyes  and  laughed. 

^^  But  trust  me  J  gentleman,  F II  prove  more  true,'  she 
whispered,  ^^  than  those  who  have  more  cunning  to  be 
strange  r 

"Juliet!"  he  whispered  back,  lost  in  his  own  mad 
passion.     "Juliet!" 

Their  gold-shod  feet  were  upon  the  golden  stairs  ;  the 
gates  of  Paradise  were  before  them. 


CHAPTER   XVn 

THE   POOL   OF    IMMORTALITY 

''Hdrd!     Hart!     Hart!     Hard!'' 

The  cry  was  incessant  now,  for  there  was  a  glint  of 
light  in  the  east ;  and  the  hosts  of  pilgrims  to  the 
*  Cradle  of  the  Gods '  were  cramming,  almost  to  solidity, 
each  street  and  alley  in  Eshwara  which  could  be  said,  by 
however  long  and  tortuous  a  detour,  to  give  access  to 
that  small  tank  where,  at  dawn,  the  miraculous  waters 
of  cleansing  would  rise,  as  they  always  did  on  this,  the 
great  Day  of  Atonement.  In  the  sea  of  slightly  up- 
turned faces,  upturned  in  the  vain  hope  of  seeing  over 
the  heads  of  those  in  front,  the  most  noticeable  thing  was 
the  expression  of  mingled  eagerness  and  patience.  And 
this  was  most  noticeable  in  those  who  stood  nearest  to 
the  bamboo  railing  which  had  been  erected  (in  a  square 
some  four  feet  from  the  first  step  downwards)  as  a  pre- 
caution against  a  dangerous  rush  on  all  sides  ;  and  in 
consequence,  a  dangerous  crush  on  those  steep  steps. 
The  only  entrance  to  them,  therefore,  was  by  a  sort  of 
double  sheep-pen  at  the  end  nearest  the  town,  by  means 
of  which,  when  the  time  came,  some  fifty  bathers  would 
be  admitted  to  the  railed  square  from  the  inner  pen, 
their  places  in  which  would  be  taken  by  the  fifty  in  the 


THE  POOL   OF  IMMORTALITY  1 93 

outer  one  ;  their  places,  in  turn,  being  filled  by  fifty 
from  the  general  crowd.  By  which  double  check  no 
more  than  fifty  could  stand  at  one  time  with  no  barrier 
between  their  mortality  and  immortality  !  The  railing 
itself  was  guarded  every  two  yards  by  a  yellow-legged 
constable,  and  at  the  sheep-pens  stood  the  two  Euro- 
pean police-officers  in  whose  hands  the  peace  and  order 
of  the  vast  crowd  lay.  Their  assistant  stood  at  the 
exit  gate  at  the  other  end,  and  their  three  white  helmets 
showed  strangely  conspicuous  amongst  the  bare  or 
saffron-turbaned  heads. 

The  two  at  the  sheep-pens  were  talking  and  laughing 
to  each  other  as  Englishmen  will  before  business  begins  ; 
talking  and  laughing  London  talk,  for  one  of  them  was 
fresh  from  home  furlough,  and  had  only  been  detailed 
for  this  special  duty,  on  his  way  up  country. 

"Yes!  I  had  a  jolly  day,"  he  was  saying.  "The 
dear  old  Heath  was  looking  just  as  it  always  did.  It 
was  like  being  born  again  to  come  back  to  the  whole 
caboodle  —  Aunt  Sallies,  Tommy  Dods,  Welshers,  and 
the  lot — and  then  the  enclosure  —  "  A  sudden  sway 
in  the  crowd  made  him  look  round  hastily  at  his  own.  It 
was  all  correct ;  so  many  yards  this  way,  so  many  that, 
with  yellow  legs  marking  the  yards,  and  those  three 
white  helmets  marking  the  limits  within  which  regener- 
ation was  legal. 

The  sway  ceased.  The  moment  had  not  yet  come, 
though  slowly,  surely,  the  light  grew,  to  give  the  great 
mass  of  bronze  faces  a  greyish,  corpse-like  tint,  while, 
half  way  up  the  sky  behind  them,  the  serrated  edge  of 
the  sacred  snows  grew  pale,  and  cold,  and  stern,  like  the 
very  face  of  Death  itself. 

''Hart!     Hdrd !     Hdrd !     Hdrt  T' 

There  was  a  note  of  anxiety  in  the  cry  now;  for  the 
shadow  thrown  by  the  tall  houses  which  hemmed  in  the 
wide  courtyard  was  growing  paler,  and  in  another 
minute,  at  most,  the  twelve-foot  square  of  cleansing 
water,  which  was  all  the  Gods  vouchsafed,  must  surely 
begin  to  rise  and  show  at  the  bottom  of  those  worn 
o 


194  '^HE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

Stone  steps  —  worn  by  generations  on  generations  of 
golden-shod  feet  seeking  immortality. 

**  Stand  back,  please  !  Not  yet !  "  came  an  English 
voice,  inaudible  for  the  rhythmic  roar  of  the  multitude  ; 
but  the  raised  riding  whip  was  sufficient.  The  eager- 
ness died  out  for  a  moment  from  those  nearest  faces, 
lost  in  a  cheerful  obedience,  a  respectful  salaam  or  two, 
a  general  acquiescence. 

"  I  wish  those  devils  of  priests  would  turn  on  the  tap,'* 
remarked  the  other  Englishman  with  a  yawn. 

**Yes!"  answered  the  first  speaker;  *'if  you  are  on 
duty,  next  year,  I'd  insist  on  the  curtain  being  rung  up 
at  the  bill  time.  It  is  rough  on  the  audience  ;  especially 
when  they  don't  cat-call !  " 

He  gave  an  imitation  of  a  London  gallery's  sign  of 
impatience,  which  made  some  of  the  golden-shod  ones 
stare ;  for  the  rhythmic  roar  had  died  down  in  one  of 
those  sudden  silences  which  seize  upon  humanity  even 
when  in  masses.  So  that  a  faint  *'  rumpa-tmn-htm-rumpa' 
tum-Uim  "  was  distinctly  audible  from  far.  It  was  the 
tom-tom  of  the  old  Brahmin,  whom  Lance  Carlyon  had 
seen  selling  the  endless  circles  of  cut  papers  as  a  whole 
pantheon  of  Gods. 

It  is  an  eminently  disturbing  sound,  that  ceaseless, 
insistent  throb  of  a  tom-tom^  which  has  no  end,  no  begin- 
ning ;  which  holds  ever  in  its  beat  the  necessity  for 
something  more  ;  for  another  repetition,  and  yet  another. 

So,  on  its  ceaselessness,  broke  in  again  that  swaying, 
pulsing  roar  of  many  voices. 

''Hdrt!  Hard!  Life  — Death— Creator— Destroyer!" 

"Something  must  have  gone  wrong  with  the  ball- 
cock,  and  as  usual,  the  plumber  will  be  'in  directly  from 
another  little  job,'  "  said  the  man  who  had  just  come  out 
from  England,  reminiscently.  He  had  gone  there  to 
settle  his  wife  and  bairns  in  a  jerry-built  villa  near 
London  ;  so  the  memory  of  something  beyond  the  iniqui- 
ties of  the  plumber  —  those  Borgias  of  modern  life,  deal- 
ing death  unchecked,  undiscovered  —  made  his  eyes  pass 
beyond   the   crowd,  pass   the   spires   of   the   clustered 


THE  POOL    OF  IMMORTALITY  I95 

temples,  and  settle  on  the  still  dark,  western  sky,  over 
whose  curved  edge  lay  the  goal  of  his  solitary  feet,  the 
end  of  his  pilgrimage,  the  cradle  of  his  divinities. 

**  Stand  back,  please  !  not  yet !  "  came  his  order  again  ; 
and  once  more  eagerness  died  down  to  obedience.  Once 
more  that  cry  on  the  Creator,  the  Destroyer,  ended  in 
that  insistent,  restless  beat  of  the  old  god-selling  Brah- 
min's drum. 

It  was  a  strange  scene.  Above,  was  the  growing 
light  of  day ;  below,  the  square  stone  font  of  immor- 
tality, and  between  them  a  clamouring  crowd,  a  careless 
few. 

And  between  them  what } 

A  light  railing  of  bamboo,  the  dignity  that  doth  hedge 
an  empire.     That  was  all. 

And  now,  with  a  sudden  access  of  light,  came  the 
quick  indrawing  breath  of  thousands  to  voice  a  sort  of 
sharp,  short  sob,  followed  by  an  instant's  silence. 

Then,  long,  soft,  with  the  hush  in  it  of  some  huge 
wave  far  out  at  sea  which  swallows  up  a  lesser  one,  the 
out-going  breath  of  those  thousands  voiced  a  sigh. 

For  the  pool  was  still  empty,  though  the  dawn  had 
come. 

Something  was  wrong. 

Seriously  wrong,  to  judge  by  one  English  face,  as  it 
turned  to  give  a  look  round,  then  settled  on  another 
English  face.  "There's  something  up  —  God  knows 
what  —  the  Commissioner  feared  a  row,  you  know. 
You'd  better  go  to  the  Fort  and  ask  Bering  to  send  us 
down  every  man  he  can ;  men,  you  understand,  not 
sabres  — as  yet.  And  tell  Pidar  Narayan,  he's  a  host  in 
himself  with  these  pilgrims,  —  Ramanund  too,  you  might 
get  him,  —  we  want  anyone  who  can  help  the  crowd 
to  keep  its  temper,  though  I  don't  expect  he'd  be  much 
good  —  and  there's  no  one  else.  Inspector!"  here  the 
police  officer  turned  to  a  silver-laced  turban  beside  the 
outer  pen, ''  leave  that  in  charge  of  Govinda  and  Suchet  — 
Stay  !  Shiv-deo  will  be  better;  he  is  a  high-caste  Brahmin. 
And  you  go  and  send  every  twice-born  constable  you've 


196  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

got,  and  can  trusty  to  every  alley  and  street  that  leads 
here ;  for  there  will  be  an  awful  crush  when  those  in 
front  don't  move  on.  And  — "  he  wrinkled  his  fore- 
head in  hasty  thought  —  ''have  we  anyone  connected 
with  the  temple  priests,  someone  they  can  trust  ?  Ah  ! 
Annant,  of  course, — the  very  man!  Send  him  to  find 
out  if  there  is  anything  really  wrong ;  and  —  "  he  low- 
ered his  voice,  "  if  it  is  anything  to  do  with  the  siphon, 
or  whatever  it  is,  get  workmen  and  set  it  straight — pour 
water  down  —  anything  !  Only  there  must  be  a  miracle. 
And  be  quick.  If  this  crowd  gets  impatient  —  God 
help  it ! " 

The  last  was  to  himself  as  he  looked  round  the  solid 
packed  mass  of  humanity.  There  was  no  sigh  of  im- 
patience in  it  as  yet ;  only  eagerness. 

"  And  mind,"  he  added,  "  no  truncheons  drawn  till  I 
myself  give  the  order." 

The  word  passed  in  a  low  tone  round  the  square  of 
authority,  and  that  done,  the  head  of  it  pulled  out  his 
cigar  case.     He  might  as  well  smoke  while  he  could. 

The  crowd  watched  him,  vaguely  interested  at  his 
lack  of  interest  in  what  was  coming,  until  a  faint  for- 
ward sweep,  a  half-hearted  shout  came  from  behind ; 
from  those  upturned  faces  which  could  not  even  see  an 
Englishman  lighting  his  cigar. 

"  Not  yet !  Stand  back !  "  said  the  latter  again,  as  the 
pressure  on  the  sheep  pen  grew.  And  they  stood  back, 
all  save  a  miserable-looking,  dirt-clad,  wild-eyed  mendi- 
cant, who  had  wormed  his  way  to  the  front,  and  now 
feared  to  lose  it. 

'*  Lo !  brother,"  said  big  Govinda,  a  Sikh  from 
Patiala,  as  he  thrust  him  back  gently,  "  have  patience 
awhile.  Give  the  Gods  time.  There  is  not  water  to 
wash  a  babe  yet." 

Shiv-deo,  taller  even  than  Govinda,  a  Saraswati 
Brahmin,  if  ever  there  was  one,  at  the  other  side  of  the 
pen,  twirled  his  mustache  airily,  and  laughed.  "  Nay, 
Govinda,"  he  called,  "let  the  beggar  in.  He  seeks  but 
to  drown  vermin." 


THE  POOL    OF  IMMORTALITY  1 97 

The  rude  jest  served  its  turn,  after  the  manner  of 
policemen's  jokes  all  over  the  world.  The  crowd  close 
at  hand  tittered,  caught  up  the  cue,  amused  itself  with 
additions  ;  and  those  behind  forgot  the  great  question 
in  curiosity.     But  not  for  long. 

''Hcird!     Hdrt!      Hdri  I     Hdrd!'' 

The  roar  of  relief  rose  up  tumultuously,  the  mass  of 
people  swayed  with  that  curious  sidelong  motion  of  a 
forward  crowd,  as,  in  the  clear  light,  a  trickle  of  Water 
showed  through  the  crevices  of  the  paving  stones  at  the 
bottom  of  the  tank. 

"  Look  out  ! "  shouted  the  Englishman ;  but  remon- 
strance in  words  was  useless  in  that  storm  of  sound. 
So  big  Govinda  promptly  snatched  two  intruders  out  of 
his  pen,  like  puppies,  by  the  scruff  of  their  necks,  one  in 
each  hand ;  and  Shiv-deo,  choosing  out  the  nearest  low- 
caste  man  unerringly,  caught  him  in  his  arms  like  a 
baby,  and  literally  tossed  him  on  to  the  heads  of  the 
crowd,  with  a  shout  which,  even  in  that  uproar,  could  be 
heard  of  some  in  that  nearest  crush. 

**  Brahmins  first,  washerman  !  Thy  sort  can  bathe  in 
the  suds  of  our  clothes  ! " 

And  those  who  heard,  ducked,  and  when  the  victim 
—  who  was  not  a  washerman  —  fell  amongst  them, 
hustled  and  silenced  him,  and  nodded  to  the  big  man 
whose  claim  to  dignity  was  writ  so  plain  upon  his 
face. 

But  despite  ready  wit  and  sheer  strength,  one  deter- 
mined fellow  would  have  made  good  his  entrance,  and 
so  served  as  a  bell-wether  to  that  overwhelming  flock,  if 
a  white  hand  and  arm  with  silver  buttons  on  the  cuff  — 
holding  a  silver-mounted  hunting-crop,  clubbed  savagely 
short  —  had  not  come  down — glinting  in  the  first  sun- 
ray  like  a  sword  —  clear  on  the  bare  head  as  it  ducked 
under  the  barrier. 

The  intruder,  a  big  burly  devotee,  dropped  on  his  face 
like  a  stone ;  then,  to  the  striker's  relief,  sat  up,  and 
apparently  howled ;  apparently,  because  that  rhythmic 
roar  smothered  all  individual  sound. 


igS  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

'^HdrdJ     Hdrtf     Hdrd  I     Hdrt  T' 

Suddenly,  as  it  had  begun,  it  stopped ;  for  that  faint 
inrush  of  water  had  stopped  also ;  stopped,  hesitated, 
then  sunk  out  of  sight  again  with  a  sort  of  drowning 
gurgle  that  came  as  an  accompaniment  to  the  only  other 
sound ;  the  insistent  throbbing  of  the  old  God-maker's 
drum  in  the  distance. 

"  Not  enough  pressure  ! "  murmured  the  police  officer 
to  himself,  judging  that  an  attempt  had  been  made  to 
fill  the  tank  in  some  new  way.  Then  he  frowned.  There 
would  be  pressure  enough  and  to  spare  among  the 
crowd  soon,  most  likely.  What  could  be  done  to 
prevent  it } 

**  Halt !  by  your  right  —  single  file  !  " 

The  order  came,  far  back,  from  the  widest  street,  and 
it  was  full  ten  minutes  ere  Lance  Carlyon,  with  a  follow- 
ing of  Sikh  pioneers,  armed  with  spades  and  picks,  could 
edge  through  the  crowd,  though  it  still  yielded  room  to 
authority  without  a  murmur.  He  had  been  on  his  way 
with  a  fatigue  party  to  finish  clearing  the  camp,  when 
the  assistant  superintendent  of  police  had  met  him,  in 
the  bazaar,  and  told  him  he  was  wanted. 

**Send  four  of  your  men  to  clear  the  mud  from 
the  crevices  of  the  stones,"  said  the  police  officer, 
seizing  on  a  possible  diversion  gladly,  "  it  will  serve 
to  keep  the  crowd  amused  till  Bering  brings  his  men 
down." 

As  the  four  stalwart  pioneers  stepped  to  their  work 
of  making  miracles,  a  stir  of  expectation  ran  through 
those  first  rows  who  could  see.  "  Surely,"  they  said  to 
each  other,  *'if  the  Masters  took  the  job  in  hand,  the 
Gods  must  needs  send  the  water." 

"  Of  a  surety  !  "  said  Shiv-deo,  catching  the  comment. 
"Do  not  the  Gods  always  befriend  the  bold  }  Do  not 
we,  of  Harriana,  find  the  sacred  river  which  the  devils 
hid,  though  we  have  to  dig  three-hundred-feet  wells  to 
find  it .? " 

This  allusion  to  the  extrordinarily  deep  wells  dug  by 
the  peasantry  in  the  almost  rainless  tract  beneath  which, 


THE  POOL    OF  IMMORTALITY  1 99 

SO  the  legend  goes,  the  river  Saraswati  still  runs,  passed 
from  mouth  to  mouth  consolingly. 

Yea,  if  devils  hid  water,  men  found  it. 

Why  not  these  men }  since  nothing  was  impossible 
to  a  miracle. 

The  sun  was  shining  broadly  now,  as  if  it  had  been 
up  for  hours,  and  showed,  far  as  the  eye  could  reach 
down  every  lane  and  street  and  alley,  nothing  but  that 
sea  of  upturned  faces  converging  to  one  centre;  won- 
derfully still,  wonderfully  patient. 

"  I  wish  someone  would  stop  that  cursed  drum,"  said 
Lance,  suddenly,  "  it's  enough  to  give  anyone  the  fidgets. 
I  feel  myself  — "  he  broke  off,  and  his  memory  going 
back  to  his  jesting  remark  to  Erda,  his  young  face 
clouded.  Was  it  possible  he  should  never  see  her 
again }  Was  it  possible  that  the  Reverend  David  was 
to  claim  his  paradise }  He  felt  savage  at  the  very 
thought,  impatient,  full  of  an  almost  righteous  anger  at 
everything,  especially  the  drum-banger  for  making  such 
an  infernal  noise. 

And  now,  far  back  as  before,  an  English  voice  could 
be  heard  giving  an  order.  It  was  to  loosen  scabbards 
this  time,  and  the  poUce  officer  looked  up  hastily.  It 
meant  that,  for  the  first  time,  the  crowd  must  be  hesi- 
tating in  its  quick  obedience  to  command ;  perhaps 
because  most  of  the  troopers  were  Mahomedans. 

"  I  hope  they'll  get  through  without  using  them,"  said 
the  man  responsible  for  peace  and  order,  "  but,  steady  \ 
please,  in  case  of  a  rush.  Remember  that  if  we  yield 
more  foot-room,  someone  must  fall ;  then  there  will  be 
the  devil  to  pay.  At  present  they  are  so  tight  packed 
they  can't." 

That,  indeed,  was  the  position.  So  long  as  authority 
could  prevent  those  few  yards  of  clear  space  about  the 
pool  being  encroached  upon,  there  was  safety.  So  the 
barrier  of  men  waited  anxiously. 

But  no  rush  came  ;  the  reason  of  this  being  made 
clear  when  the  file  of  troopers  appeared,  led  by  old 
Pidar  Narayan,  who  had  joined  the  party  at  the  crucial 


200  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

moment,  and  piloted  them  through  the  crowd,  which 
gave  way  to  his  well-known  figure  with  absolute  alac- 
rity. He  turned  at  the  entrance,  to  hold  up  his  hand 
in  priestly  fashion. 

"  Patience,  my  children  !  "  he  said  sternly.  "  Tarry 
ye  the  Lord's  leisure !  Let  Him  do  what  seemeth  Him 
good ! " 

The  idea,  familiar  to  the  least  of  them,  brought  in- 
stant assent  and  a  sort  of  relieved  sigh  from  those 
who  heard  it.  Here  was  something  they  could  under- 
stand. A  man,  set  apart  from  others  by  his  dress,  his 
life,  his  invariable  assumption  of  authority,  his  unques- 
tioned claim  to  be  mediator  between  the  dim,  inaccessi- 
ble Creator  and  his  creatures,  to  be  interpreter  of  the 
hidden  Mind. 

But  the  police  officer  heaved  his  sigh  of  relief  over 
the  appearance  of  more  matter.  His  barrier  could  now 
be  one  of  men,  standing  shoulder  to  shoulder. 

And  such  a  barrier  would  soon  be  needed,  since  this 
latest  contingent  brought  discouraging  news.  The 
priests  were  helpless.  The  secret  supply  had  some- 
how been  tampered  with,  but  where,  not  even  they 
could  tell  without  help.  And  though  they  had  sent, 
long  before  dawn,  to  both  Am-ma  and  Gu-gu  —  the 
only  two  men  likely  to  know  anything  or  be  able  to  do 
anything  —  neither  could  be  found. 

"And  won't  be,"  interrupted  Vincent,  suddenly  re- 
membering, as  he  listened,  what  he  had  seen  the  night 
before.  "  They  are  most  likely  in  the  plot ;  one  of 
them,  at  any  rate,  was  going  up  the  Hari  in  a  dug-out 
late  last  night." 

"  Not  Am-ma,"  put  in  Lance.  "  He  started  before 
that  to  go  up  the  Hara  and  pilot  down  a  raft  for  the 
forest  officer.     I  met  him  as  I  came  back  to  dinner." 

"  Well,  he  is  not  get-at-able  anyhow,  and  that's  all  we 
have  to  consider,"  said  the  police  officer.  "Briefly,  the 
miracle  is  off  the  bill.  Now,  how  the  deuce  are  we  to 
get  the  audience  to  go  away  peacefully } " 

"Perhaps  if  I,  as  a  fellow-countryman,  and  a  Brah- 


THE  POOL   OF  IMMORTALITY  201 

min,  were  to  address  them  —  "  began  Ramanund,  who  had 
come  down  with  Pidar  Nardyan,  feeling  important  at 
being  summoned. 

The  latter  turned  to  the  man,  whom  he  knew  had  long 
since  rejected  the  faith  of  his  fathers,  and,  so  to  speak, 
thrown  the  Almighty  overboard  to  lighten  his  ship. 

"You  cannot  argue  with  that,  my  son!"  he  said 
gently,  pointing  to  the  sea  of  patient,  yet  eager,  faces. 
"  No  one  of  your  sort  ever  has,  in  all  the  history  of  the 
world.  That  does  not  reason.  It  feels.  Show  it  an- 
other miracle,  and  it  will  worship.  Give  it  a  cause,  and 
it  will  espouse  it.  Give  it  a  lead,  and  it  will  follow  j  but 
words  —  never! " 

**Well,  I  hope  to  God  no  one  will  supply  it  with  the 
wrong  lead  !  "  put  in  the  police  officer.  "  For  the  rest, 
we  must  hold  the  fort,  I  suppose.  Inspector !  when  is 
the  show — the  miracle,  I  mean, — supposed  to  end.**" 

"  Not  till  sunset,  sir,"  said  the  man,  salaaming. 

"And  it's  now  about  six,  I  suppose.  Eleven  hours  !  " 
He  took  out  his  cigar-case  and  counted.  "  Yes  !  I'll  last 
through.  Inspector !  Close  your  men  in,  and  let  them 
stand  at  ease.  Captain  Bering,  if  you  can  spare  yours 
till  then,  I  shall  be  obliged." 

"Certainly.  I  left  a  troop  with  Roshan  Khin,  and 
orders  to  send  word  of  any  disturbance ;  and  I  wired  to 
Dillon  in  case  —  " 

Father  Ninian  shook  his  head.  "There  is  no  fear 
till  this  is  settled."     He  pointed  to  the  Pool. 

And  he  was  right.  All  through  the  long  hot  hours 
the  crowd  waited.  Sometimes  the  cry,  *^  Hdrd  !  Hdri  !  " 
burst  out,  to  be  followed  by  a  faint  rush.  Sometimes 
the  great  mass  stood  silent,  listening  to  the  insistent 
throbbing  of  the  old  God-maker's  drum  in  the  distance, 
but  through  it  all  the  note  was  patience.  And  it  was 
patience,  also,  in  the  square  enclosure  of  authority. 
Sometimes  a  would-be  intruder  would  be  lifted  like  a 
puppy,  and  chucked  back  to  his  fellows.  Once  or 
twice  an  English  arm  would  go  up,  and  come  down 
on  some  more  wilful  head ;  but  that  was  all. 


202  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

And  far  away  at  the  Fort  the  gong  chimed  the  hours 
regularly  up  to  twelve,  and  begun  at  one  again. 

But  there  was  no  fuss,  no  noise.  The  crowd  stood 
their  ground,  giving  no  inch,  and  authority  stood  its 
ground  and  yielded  none,  since  in  that  lay  safety  for  all. 

So,  with  a  horrible  slowness,  the  day  dragged  on,  until 
at  last  the  red  sun  sank  behind  the  levels  beyond  the 
gaol;  and  the  strain  was  over ! 

**  I'll  take  a  biscuit  in  my  pocket  next  time,"  said  the 
police  officer,  cheerfully,  as,  bit  by  bit,  the  stones  of  the 
courtyard  began  to  show  between  the  golden-shod  feet. 
"  Inspector !  send  your  men  to  quarters,  and  let  them 
eat  their  food."  Then  he  walked  over  and  looked 
down  into  the  deep  empty  tank. 

"  It  might  have  been  full  up,"  he  said.  "  We  couldn't 
have  stopped  them  for  a  moment  if  they  had  had  any 
sort  of  a  lead  over.  And  from  what  you  told  the  Com- 
missioner, sir,"  —  he  turned  to  Father  Ninian  —  "I  was 
afraid  of  one." 

The  old  priest  stood  watching  the  crowd  disperse  for 
a  moment  in  silence. 

"  So  was  I,"  he  said,  "  but  I  was  mistaken,  so  far. 
Still,  there  is  danger  in  the  air.     I  feel  it.     I  hear  it." 

And  as  he  spoke,  above  the  hum  of  the  crowd,  silent 
no  longer,  rose  that  insistent  throbbing  of  the  old  God- 
maker's  drum. 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

ADRIFT 

Erda  Shepherd  stood  in  her  bedroom,  under  the 
wood-shingled  house  at  Herrnhut,  looking  at  a  heap  of 
white  muslin  and  delicate  embroideries  which  lay  upon 
her  bed. 

It  was  the  wedding  dress.  She  had  just  unpacked 
it ;  partly  because  she  felt  desceiivr^,  partly  in  the  hope 
that  the  sight  of  it,  ready  to  be  worn  so  soon,  would 


ADRIFT  203 

Still  the  vague  disquiet  of  which  she  was  conscious. 
Yet  if  anyone  had  ventured  to  suggest,  when  she  had 
said  good-by  to  Lance  Carlyon  the  evening  before,  — 
said  good-by  almost  carelessly,  by  reason  of  the  fervid 
enthusiasm  which  absorbed  her,  —  that  within  twenty- 
four  hours  the  wisdom  of  the  farewell  should  seem  logi- 
cally doubtful,  she  would  have  been  desperately  angry. 

But  she  was  too  honest  to  deny  that  the  doubt  had 
come.  Come  in  a  moment,  wildly,  passionately,  when 
they  had  thwarted  her  desire  of  joining  in  the  crusade 
over  the  other  side  of  the  river  along  the  pilgrims'  road. 
She  had  meant  to  go  with  David,  who  was  to  take  up 
his  position  at  a  camping-ground  some  six  miles  off, 
and  she  had  fought  hard  for  the  privilege.  But  they 
had  quoted  Scripture  at  her  to  prove  that  a  wife,  or  a 
wife  to  be,  must  needs  hamper  a  man  more  than  any 
other  woman,  even  his  sister.  David  had  been  kind 
about  it,  almost  too  kind.  She  flushed  a  little  at  the 
recollection  of  his  words,  his  look ;  for  that  sort  of 
thing  had  scarcely  come  into  her  calculations.  But 
Dr.  Campbell  had  pompously  reminded  her  that  her 
future  profession  would  be  wife,  caretaker,  sympathizer, 
and  general  bolsterer-up  to  a  worker.  Nor  need  she 
think  the  task  small ;  it  was  the  noblest  one  a  woman 
could  have.  He  had  gone  on  to  comfort  her  with 
instances  of  such  general  support  from  his  own  life 
and  those  of  his  friends,  until,  with  a  flash,  that  unex- 
pected questioning  had  come  to  the  girl's  mind.  She 
had  asked  herself  what  difference  there  was  in  the 
nobility  of  being  one  man's  wife  or  another's  —  provided 
the  man  was  worthy  and  his  work  in  the  world  good  t 

Father  Ninian's  words,  ^^  I  can  wish  no  better  wish  for 
you  and  for  the  world,''  had  come  back  to  her  then,  as 
if  in  answer  to  her  questioning. 

And,  even  now,  they  echoed  in  her  heart.  The  house 
was  very  quiet,  very  shadowy,  for  the  sun  left  the  little 
oasis  of  valley  set  in  its  circling  wilderness  of  hill,  long 
before  a  fraction  of  light  faded  from  the  sky  above  it. 
She  could  hear  Mrs.  Campbell's  voice  down  the  little 


204  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

ladder-like  stairs,  conferring  with  the  cook  over  the 
wedding  cake,  and,  in  a  side-issue,  exhorting  him  to  be 
sure  and  have  the  soup  hot  in  case  the  workers  might 
return  exhausted,  and  require  something  to  eat  the 
moment  they  arrived. 

Erda  sat  down  on  the  bed  beside  the  white  muslin, 
and  fingered  the  quaint  little  cap  idly,  as  she  told  her- 
self that  such  things  would  be  a  part  of  her  duties  in 
the  future. 

But  only  a  part.  Life  was  no  unknown  country  to 
this  girl,  who  had  spent  years  in  a  medical  mission. 
She  was  no  ignorant  baby,  standing,  in  a  fashion  hap- 
pily past,  on  the  verge  of  she  knew  not  what.  She 
looked  ahead  calmly,  taking  the  world  as  the  Creator 
made  it.  She  thought,  without  a  flush,  as  good  women 
do,  of  the  children  she  hoped  might  come ;  and  as  she 
thought,  she  frowned,  not  from  any  revolt  of  her  spirit- 
ual or  physical  nature,  but  because,  once  more,  the  ques- 
tion arose :  "  Was  not  Lance  right }  Was  not  this  the 
essence  t  Was  it  not  everything  to  be  sure  of  the  in- 
heritance } " 

She  started  up  at  the  sound  of  her  aunt  calling  her, 
glad  of  the  interruption. 

Had  she  not  better,  the  good  lady  suggested,  try  on 
the  dress,  now  she  was  about  it,  since  if  there  was  any- 
thing amiss,  the  sooner  the  tailor  set  to  work  to  rectify 
it  the  better. 

Undoubtedly.  Besides,  she  told  herself,  the  mere 
putting  on  of  this,  the  sign  of  her  new  profession, 
would  be  healthful.  It  would  give  her  the  feeling  of 
being  set  apart  for  the  life  which  she  had  chosen  de- 
liberately, chosen  with  her  eyes  open,  though,  maybe, 
focussed  too  much  on  that  mental  companionship.  Too 
much  }  Impossible  !  Lance  was  wrong.  That  was  the 
crowning  glory  of  marriage ;  and  even  if  it  seemed  hard 
to  have  to  stand  aside  from  actually  fighting  the  good 
fight,  the  victory  would  be  hers  —  hers  almost  more  than 
her  husband's,  since  the  effort  would  be  greater,  the 
work  more  against  the  grain. 


ADRIFT  205 

Yes,  she  would  try  on  the  dress ;  and  if  it  did  not 
fit  perfectly,  what  matter? 

Was  anything  in  the  world  perfect  ?  Yet  it  should 
be  as  perfect  as  she  could  compass ;  even  the  little 
cap  should  not  lack  its  bunch  of  orange  blossoms !  As 
she  told  herself  this  she  was  for  the  time  womanhood 
incarnate;  womanhood  playing,  with  dainty  little  tender- 
nesses and  conceits,  about  the  abyss  for  which  it  is 
responsible.  So,  with  the  smile  of  an  angel,  she  passed 
into  the  garden,  the  old  militant  feeling  at  her  heart. 
Her  feet  were  on  the  golden  stairs.  She  was  going  to 
regain  the  lost  Paradise  hand  in  hand  with  one  of  those 
whom  she  had  driven  from  it.  They  were  going  to  for- 
get all  the  consequences  of  that  mistake.  They  were 
going  to  be  —  what  .'*... 

The  vague  confusion  did  not  prevent  her  feeling 
that  she  was  absolutely  certain  she  was  on  the  right 
path.  Indeed,  the  only  regret  of  which  she  was  con- 
scious was  one  that  she  was  not  on  the  other  side  of 
the  river,  on  the  pilgrims'  road,  with  the  rest  of  the 
mission. 

She  stood  looking  over  to  the  frowning  cliffs  from  the 
little  wooden  landing-stage,  built  out  at  the  bottom  of 
the  garden  into  the  wide  shallows  of  the  river,  which 
here  showed  scarcely  a  streak  or  dimple  of  current.  She 
could  see  the  mission  boat  lying  moored  on  the  other 
side,  against  the  fighters'  return. 

Yet  the  very  idea  of  fight  seemed  impossible,  she 
thought,  in  that  utter  peacefulness  and  stillness.  The 
rim  of  dark  hills  circled  the  jewel  of  the  sun-bright  sky 
tenderly,  as  if  it  sought  to  keep  in  the  heavy,  sweet 
perfume  of  the  orange  blossoms  which  starred  every 
tree  in  the  wide,  fruitful  garden.  They  were  famous 
oranges,  those  in  the  Herrnhut  garden  ;  grafts  brought 
by  a  missionary  from  Malta.  Mrs.  Campbell,  notable 
woman  as  she  was,  made  a  steady  income  for  good 
works  out  of  the  sale  of  the  great  red-skinned,  red- 
hearted  fruit,  and  prided  herself  in  keeping  them  later 
on  her  trees  than  anyone  in   India.     Indeed,  in  the 


206  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

shadier,  colder  alleys  some  were  still  hanging  side  by- 
side  with  the  new  blossoms.  A  sort  of  example  to  these 
novices,  showing  them  what  their  real  work  in  the  world 
ought  to  be  !  Erda,  smiling  at  her  own  conceit,  stroked 
one  of  the  warm  yet  stainless  petals  in  the  bunch  she 
held  as  if  it  were  a  sentient  thing.  Perhaps  it  was. 
Who  knows  ! 

As  she  turned  to  go  back,  warned  by  a  softening  of 
the  sky  that  the  time  was  later  than  she  thought,  some- 
thing showed  rounding  the  smooth,  silver  bend  of  the 
river  above  ;  and  she  paused,  shading  her  eyes  with  her 
hand,  to  see  what  it  was. 

A  raft.  The  first  of  the  rafts  of  wood  which  at  cer- 
tain seasons  were  floated  down  the  river  to  Eshwara. 
Am-ma's  raft,  most  likely,  which  he  had  told  her  he  had 
to  pilot. 

Yes  !  There  he  was  on  the  quaint  contrivance  which 
the  river  folk  used  for  journeys  down  stream.  A  com- 
mon string  bed,  no  more,  no  less,  supported  between 
inflated  bladders  of  skin.  The  sight  of  it  gave  her  a 
pang  to  think  that  she  would  never  more  go  bobbing, 
sidling,  dipping,  racing  on  one  of  them,  as  the  mission 
folk  always  did  when  they  wanted  to  stay  the  last  possi- 
ble minute  of  holiday  at  Herrnhut,  and  get  back  to  Esh- 
wara as  quickly  as  they  could.  For  it  took  half  the  time 
of  the  winding  road,  when  the  river,  as  now,  was  quiet 
and  manageable.  And  Am-ma  was  the  most  dexterous 
manager  of  the  singular  craft.  There  he  was,  paddling 
for  dear  life  ;  now  leaping  to  his  great  pile  of  timber, 
steering  it  with  his  paddle  round  a  bend,  then  back  to 
his  string  bed  with  the  tow  rope,  to  haul  the  rudderless 
mass  to  a  straight  line  again. 

If  she  had  time,  she  thought,  she  would  have  asked 
him  to  take  her,  just  once  more,  as  far  as  the  ferry,  two 
miles  below.  Then  she  might  have  walked  back  through 
the  fields.  She  had  often  taken  the  pleasant  little  trip 
with  Am-ma.  There  was  no  danger  so  far ;  but  after 
that,  when  the  river  began  to  slip  and  slide,  even  he  had 
sometimes  to  cut  a  raft  adrift  and  trust  to  catching  it 


ADRIFT  207 

again  in  smoother  water ;  since  it  was  not  pleasant  to 
have  such  a  crushing  neighbour  in  the  eddies  and  swirls 
of  a  lasher. 

As  she  stood  watching  him,  she  saw  him  pause,  look- 
ing towards  her,  then  leap  from  the  raft  and  come  pad- 
dling down  stream.  He  had  evidently  seen  her  waiting 
on  the  landing-stage,  and  thought  she  wanted  him  ;  so 
she  shook  her  head  and  began  to  walk  back  to  the 
house.  As  she  did  so  an  orange  caught  her  eye  under 
a  tree,  whence  it  had  fallen  from  sheer  red-gold  ripeness, 
and,  knowing  how  Mrs.  Campbell  mourned  a  single  loss, 
she  gathered  it  up  and  took  it  with  her. 

Back  in  her  own  room,  she  began  to  pin  her  bunch 
of  blossoms  in  her  cap  hurriedly,  for  she  had  lingered 
longer  in  the  garden  than  she  had  intended,  and  there 
was  a  chance,  only  a  chance,  that  those  much  to  be  en- 
vied Church-militants  might  return  and  claim  her  atten- 
tion. 

Still,  hurried  as  she  was,  she  knelt  down  beside  the 
bed  for  a  moment  or  two,  and,  with  her  clasped  hands 
laid  almost  caressingly  among  the  soft  muslin,  prayed 
that  she  might  wear  this  symbol  of  her  entry  into  a  new 
profession  worthily. 

So,  scarcely  looking  at  herself  in  the  glass  which, 
indeed,  was  too  small  to  show  her  more  than  a  rather 
pale  face  smiling  under  a  quaint  little  cap,  she  dressed 
hastily.  Her  aunt  would  be  able  to  tell  her  if  there  was 
anything  wrong  in  the  lighter  rooms  below  ;  here,  under 
the  roof,  it  was  already  a  little  dark.  Then  catching  up 
the  orange,  she  ran  downstairs,  wondering  if  the  bridal 
blossoms  always  smelt  so  overpoweringly  strong,  and 
thinking  that,  if  it  was  so,  they  must  make  the  trying 
ceremony  still  more  trying  to  one  who  disliked  to  have 
strong  scents  about  them,  as  she  did. 

Her  aunt  was  not  to  be  seen  in  the  dining  room,  so 
Erda  parted  the  heavy  curtains  which,  in  Indian  fashion, 
divided  it  from  the  drawing-room,  and  looked  in  to  see 
if  she  were  there. 

It  was  at  all  times  a  dark  room,  especially   in   late 


208  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

afternoon,  as  now;  but  the  light  from  behind  her  sent  a 
shaft  straight  to  the  pier  glass  which  stood  —  the  joy  of 
Mrs.  Campbell's  heart — just  opposite  the  curtains;  so 
making  —  as  the  good  lady  used  fondly  to  say — the 
room  look  much  larger  than  it  really  was  to  those 
entering  it. 

But  what  the  girl  saw  in  it  to-day  was  no  illusory  en- 
largement of  actualities,  no  idealization  of  fact.  It  was 
something  real,  something  not  to  be  explained  away, 
exaggerated,  or  minimized.  It  was  a  woman,  tall, 
slender,  robed  in  white ;  a  woman  with  red-gold  hair, 
edged  by  the  light  behind  her;  a  woman  with  a  red-gold 
apple  in  her  hand. 

She  stood  arrested  before  herself ;  helpless  before  the 
memory  of  a  voice  — 

"All  straight  folds  —  the  sunshine  on  your  hair,  and 
a  red-gold  apple  in  your  hand  —  the  World's  Desire!" 

And  she  had  refused  him  his.  She  stood  for  a  second, 
not  thinking  at  all ;  simply,  with  a  rush,  feeling  the 
truth,  feeling  herself. 

Then  with  a  queer  little  cry  which  might  have  been 
his  name  had  it  been  articulate,  she  broke  adrift.  Broke, 
for  the  time,  from  all  moorings,  and  possessed  with  but  the 
one  idea  that  she  could  not  do  one  thing,  that  she  must 
do  another,  she  turned  to  the  garden,  and, — the  red-gold 
fruit  still  in  her  hand,  —  hurried  breathlessly  through 
the  waning  light,  through  the  dead-sweet  perfume  of 
the  blossoms,  till  she  found  herself,  she  knew  not  why 
—  save  that  she  must  have  air,  have  space  —  upon  the 
edge  of  the  river. 

There  was  something  now  swaying  idly  against  the 
landing-stage ;  a  rude  craft  buoyed  up  by  air !  And 
there  was  a  rude  sort  of  man  in  it,  —  comprehending, 
yet  uncomprehending, — primitive,  simple,  expectant. 
'^  Huzoor  r'  he  said,  with  broad  smiles  and  outstretched 
hand.  "  I  have  been  waiting  the  Huzoor's  pleasure. 
The  Presence  will  go  whither } " 

Whither } 

Even  in  her  excitement  the  quaint  coincidence  struck 


ADRIFT  209 

her  as  absurd,  and  yet  it  seemed  to  sweep  her  further 
still  from  her  moorings. 

Whither  ? 

She  gave  that  queer  little  cry  again,  and  this  time  it 
was  ''  Lance !  Lance  !  " 

**  Whither  did  the  M\.^^-sahiba  say  ? "  asked  Am-ma 
gravely. 

The  cry  turned  to  a  strange  laugh.  "To  Eshwara  — 
where  else  does  the  river  go  }  —  where  else  } " 

The  strange,  frail  boat  was  sidling  against  the  landing- 
stage  in  the  pulse  of  the  river;  her  stranger,  frailer  self 
was  adrift  on  the  greater  river  of  life.  And  a  hand, 
heedless,  seeing  nothing  strange  in  either,  careless  of 
all  the  fine-drawn  niceties  of  culture,  had  hold  of 
hers. 

"So,  straight  to  the  centre,  Huzoor !  I  have  placed 
the  seat  correctly.  That  is  right !  The  Wv^^-sahiba 
recollects  the  old  rules ;  we  shall  be  in  Eshwara  before 
dawn !  " 

She  sat  down  mechanically,  feeling  only  that  she  was 
adrift  —  adrift  on  the  river  that  went  to  Eshwara  — 
where  else  }  —  and  that  she  was  glad ;  glad  because  she 
could  not  stay,  because  she  could  not  face  — 

And  then  the  thought  came  of  facing  something  else 
—  his  glad  delight  when  she  came  floating  down  the 
river  —  not  dead,  like  the  Lily  Maid  to  Lancelot  —  but 
alive — a  woman  with  a  red-gold  apple  in  her  hand  — 

She  sat  staring  at  what  she  held,  as  if  hypnotized  by 
its  colour,  absolutely  unconscious  of  anything  else  till 
Am-ma's  voice  came  stolidly. 

"We  must  pick  up  the  raft  first,  Huzoor.  This  slave 
let  it  drift  while  he  waited  for  the  Miss ;  but  we  shall 
find  it  at  the  ferry." 

At  the  ferry  !  The  familiar  idea  startled  her  from 
dreams  to  the  reality. 

How  came  she  there }  What  had  she  done  t  What 
did  this  mean  }  A  flush  of  intolerable  shame  swept  to 
her  face ;  she  rose  to  escape.  But  Am-ma's  warning 
hand  was  on  hers  in  an  instant ;  that  hand,  so  heedless 


i-«n-*,i-"*iit'e'.! 


210  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

of  SO  many  limitations,  so  certain  here  that  there  was 
no  escape  from  these  limitations. 

"The  Wi^^-sahiba  forgets,"  he  said  deferentially. 
*'  When  one  is  in  the  stream  there  is  no  change  possi- 
ble ;  but  if  the  place  is  not  right  we  can  alter  it  at  the 
ferry." 

She  sat  down  again,  telling  herself  this  was  true.  She 
could  alter  it  at  the  ferry.  She  could  walk  home  through 
the  fields.  No  one  need  know  (the  quaint  craft,  rocking 
itself  back  to  balance,  made  her  feel  giddy),  her  dress 
was  only  muslin,  she  could  remove  the  cap  ;  if  necessary, 
borrow  a  shawl  from  the  bible-woman  near  the  ferry, 
saying  she  had  not  thought  it  would  be  so  chilly. 

She  buried  her  face  in  both  her  hands  in  a  sort  of 
despairing  revolt  at  the  duplicity,  so,  with  the  red-gold 
fruit  in  her  lap,  sat  trying  to  think.  But  she  could  not. 
The  scent  of  the  orange  blossoms  seemed  to  cloud  her 
senses.  So  she  raised  her  face  again,  and  stared  at  the 
river.  Why  had  she  done  this }  Why  had  she  put  this 
thing,  that  she  must  always  conceal,  into  her  life } 
There  would  always,  now,  be  something  she  could  not 
say  straight  out ;  and  yet  if  she  lived  to  be  a  hundred 
the  memory  of  it  would  never  fade  ;  it  would  be  as  fresh 
as  it  was  now  when  she  died,  with  David's  hand  in  hers  ! 

The  intolerable  humiliation  of  it  stung  deep ;  the 
instinct  to  escape  rose  fiercely. 

"  Be  quick  ! "  she  cried,  seeing  Am-ma  idle,  letting 
the  current  do  the  work.  "  I  want  to  get  there  as 
soon  as  possible.  I  must,  or  something  worse  may 
happen.     There  isn't  a  moment  to  spare  !  " 

Am-ma  bent  towards  her  from  his  seat  astride  a  skin 
air-bag.  "  Did  they  kill  anyone  }  "  he  asked,  in  sudden 
interest.  **  Did  the  prisoners  escape  as  it  was  arranged  } 
And  was  it  (Z'd.xXoxv^-sahib  they  killed  t  —  they  swore  it 
should  be  he,  because  he  laughed  at  the  miracle." 

"  The  prisoners  !  —  CdccXon^-sahib  —  killed  !  "  she 
echoed  stupidly.  Then  with  a  great  throb  of  the  heart 
she  realized  that  here  might  be  something  of  more  im- 
portance than  her  self-humiliation.     Had  Father  Ninian 


ADRIFT  211 

been  right  ?  Had  there  really  been  some  conspiracy 
afoot,  and  had  Am-ma  heard  ? 

"  I  have  had  no  news  from  Eshwara,  Am-ma,"  she 
said  boldly,  '*  what  is  this  about  prisoners  escaping,  and 
the  sahib-logue  being  killed  ?  Who  was  going  to  do 
that  ? " 

Am-ma  looked  crestfallen.  "I  thought  the  Huzoor 
had  heard  —  that  that  was  why  she  was  going.  It  is 
nothing.  Idle  talk.  It  is  always  talk.  And  the 
Htizoors  have  the  Dee-puk-7'dg.  They  must  still  be 
kings." 

*' Am-ma,"  she  interrupted  sternly,  "you  must  tell 
me  about  this.  If  you  do  not,  I  will  take  my  hand  off 
your  son's  head — I  will  never  —  " 

He  almost  dropped  his  paddle  in  absolute  terror. 
^^ Hzizoor r'  he  said  helplessly,  "it  is  talk,  idle  talk. 
It  is  always  so.  All  day  long,  and  all  night  long  in 
the  bazaars,  and  the  Masters  have  the  Dee-puk-rdg. 
There  is  no  fear ;  but  this  slave  will  tell." 

They  were  almost  opposite  the  ferry  before  he  had 
finished  his  tale,  and  she  had  grasped  the  whole  tissue 
of  trivialities  which  yet  went  to  make  up  so  formidable 
a  possibility. 

The  discontent  and  dread  regarding  the  canal,  the 
strange  hghts,  the  deaths  in  gaol,  the  return  of  the 
cursed  corpse,  Gopi  —  the  ticket-of-leave  man's  —  talk  of 
revenge  if  the  cleansing  water  should  fail. 

Much  of  this  was  new  to  her,  but  it  hung  together 
with  what  she  already  knew ;  and  yet  it  seemed  incredi- 
ble !  What  could  be  the  object }  What  could  they 
expect  to  do }  Here  Am-ma  had  smiled  inscrutably, 
and  said  the  Miss  did  not  know  bazaar  talk.  Every- 
thing was  possible  to  it.  Had  they  not  even  spoken  of 
making  a  new  Nawab  out  of  Roshan  Khan,  the  risaldarf 
indeed,  had  not  \\\QJemedar2i\.  the  palace  already  treated 
him  as  one  t 

And  the  Pool  of  Immortality }  Had  it  risen  or  not } 
Am-ma  could  not  say.  They  had  asked  him  with  bribes 
and  threats  to  do  the  job  —  that  was  only  the  priest's 


212  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

revenge,  but  it  would  serve  other  purposes  too  —  but  he 
had  refused,  partly  because  he  had  to  come  away,  and 
partly  because  he  was  the  servant  of  the  Light-bring- 
ers.  As  to  when  the  prisoners  were  to  escape  he  could 
not  say.  To-day,  perhaps  to-morrow,  most  likely  never ; 
unless  something  really  happened.  It  was  talk. 
The  Miss  need  have  no  fear.  The  Htizoors,  having  the 
Dee-puk-rdg,  must  needs  be  safe,  and  QdidonQ-sahib  was 
a  real  hero ;  none  braver,  none  stronger. 

That  decided  her.  She  had  been  counting  costs  as 
she  listened.  An  hour,  say,  back  to  Herrnhut.  Even 
if  anyone  were  there,  which  was  uncertain,  half  an  hour 
at  least  to  start  a  messenger.  Then  the  boat  might  be 
at  the  other  side  of  the  river.  Then  all  those  miles,  on 
a  rough  road  at  night ! 

**  When  shall  we  get  to  Eshwara  }  "  she  asked. 

"  At  the  turn  of  the  night  and  day  if  the  river  is  kind," 
said  Am-ma,  but  he  looked  doubtfully  into  a  copper  tint 
that  remained  in  the  sky,  though  the  sun  must  have  set 
behind  the  mountains.  It  had  a  curious  effect,  that  cop- 
per-coloured dome  above  the  rim  of  almost  black  hills, 
with  the  river,  dark,  mysterious,  already  beginning  to 
slide  towards  the  narrowing  ravine.  It  did  not  strike 
her  that  she  herself,  adrift  on  that  river  in  what  was  to 
be  her  wedding  dress,  with  prehistoric,  aboriginal  Am-ma 
as  pilot  to  her  and  a  lumber  raft,  would  have  had  a  still 
more  curious  effect  to  a  spectator's  eyes.  But  there 
were  none,  and  it  was  already  almost  dark. 

*'  Am-ma,"  she  said,  "  I  will  give  you  fifty  rupees,  and 
keep  my  hand  on  the  son's  head,  if  you  will  leave  the 
raft  here,  and  take  me  as  quick  as  you  can  to  Eshwara  — 
to  the  little  steps  below  the  fort  —  fifty  whole  rupees  ! " 

He  shook  his  head  and  grinned,  partly  at  his  own 
superlative  honesty.  "  We  should  not  go  so  fast,  HiizooVy 
now  the  slide  is  near,"  he  said ;  **for,  see  you,  the  raft 
is  the  wood-sahib's  new  shape.  It  is  a  good  shape ;  it 
came  down  the  rapids  above  the  valley  like  a  boat,  faster 
than  this,  when  the  paddle  cannot  be  used.  It  will  take 
us  with  it.     I  will  fasten  this  behind,  and  steer.     Then 


ADRIFT  213 

in  the  slacker  water  when  the  paddle  is  possible,  we  will 
leave  it ;  if  the  M.\s?,-sahiba  is  in  a  hurry.  But  there 
is  none.  The  Huzoors  are  Light-bringers."  He  had 
already  paddled  alongside  the  raft,  —  a  boat-shaped  mass 
of  huge  logs  rising  towards  the  back — and,  leaping  to  it, 
came  back,  after  a  moment,  with  the  tow-rope. 

*'  It  shall  do  the  work,"  he  said,  with  another  grin,  as 
he  fastened  the  air-buoyed  bed  to  a  ring  placed  for  the 
purpose  in  one  of  the  logs.  Then  he  clucked  emphati- 
cally. "Lo!  who  would  grudge  men's  brains  to  the 
Masters  when  they  are  clever  as  the  Gods  themselves  } 
The  Miss  will  see  how  fast  this  goes.  We  shall  be  at 
Eshwara  before  the  night  turns  to  day." 

Something  in  his  tone  warned  her  that  the  recurrence 
of  the  phrase  was  not  pure  chance. 

"  That  is  when  the  prisoners  were  to  escape  t "  she 
said  quickly. 

He  did  not  affirm  or  deny  it.  *'  So  many  things  hap- 
pen in  the  fight  of  Dawn,"  he  said  affably.  That  was 
all ;  but  she  thought  rapidly.  The  rising,  or  whatever  the 
conspiracy  aimed  at,  could  scarcely  have  happened  just 
after  they  left  Eshwara  the  night  before.  In  that  case 
the  news  must  have  followed  them  on  the  road.  There- 
fore, if  it  was  to  happen  at  all,  if  this  were  not  all  talk  — 
and  Father  Ninian's  words  came  to  make  her  doubt  its 
being  so  —  it  would  happen  in  a  few  hours.  So  she 
must  be  there  in  time  to  give  warning. 

As  she  thought  this,  a  sudden  strain  at  the  tow-rope, 
a  quick  dip  of  the  boat-shaped  prow  of  the  raft,  a  louder 
swish  of  the  water  as  it  curved  out  from  its  rising  stern, 
told  her  she  was  adrift,  indeed,  on  the  way  to  Eshwara ! 
It  seemed  almost  more  incredible  than  what  had  gone 
before.  But  there  was  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of  here. 
It  was  the  only  possible  thing  to  do  under  the  circum- 
stances. Her  journey  might  prove  unnecessary,  but  it 
might  not ;  and  supposing  anything  should  really  happen 
—  to  —  to  anybody  —  she  would  never  be  able  to  forgive 
herself  if,  knowing  this  chance  of  danger,  she  had  not 
done  her  best  to  avert  it. 


214  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

CHAPTER   XIX 

JULIET 

The  copper-coloured  glow,  into  which  weather-wise 
Am-ma  had  looked,  distrustfully,  as  it  domed  the  little 
valley  set  in  its  rim  of  hills,  had  replaced  that  of  sunset 
in  Eshwara  also,  and  Pidar  Narayan's  eyes,  weather-wise 
as  the  fisherman's,  looked  at  it  as  doubtfully,  as  he 
walked  home  with  Lance  and  Vincent  Bering  when  the 
long  strain  at  the  Pool  of  Immortality  was  over. 

"  If  it  were  not  so  early  in  the  year,  I  should  predict 
a  dust-storm  —  a  real  electrical  dust-storm,"  he  said. 

Lance,  whose  hands  were  full  of  cut-paper  Gods  —  for 
in  obedience  to  a  sudden  impulse,  he  had  stopped  on  his 
way  through  the  crowd  to  buy  up  the  old  Brahmin's 
whole  stock  in  trade,  and  give  him  an  extra  eight  annas 
to  go  away  and  not  drum  any  more — looked  up  also, 
and  filled  his  broad  chest  with  a  great  breath.  "  Per- 
haps that  is  it.     I've  felt  choking  all  day  —  horrid  !  " 

Vincent  Bering  laughed.  "  I  don't  choke  —  I  tingle ; 
and  it  is  rather  jolly.  Yes,  sir ;  there  is  a  lot  of  elec- 
tricity in  the  air,  and  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  we  had  a 
regular  black  snorter.  Glad  it  didn't  come  in  the  middle 
of  the  miracle  '  biz  *,  for,  as  a  general  smasher-up  of 
ordinary  experiences,  commend  me  to  a  real  electrical 
dust-storm  !  It  seems  to  attract  the  earth,  earthy,  in 
everything.  In  fact,  if  there  is  such  a  thing  as  the 
Bevil,  and  he  ever  gets  the  upper  hand,  it  is  then  —  " 

Father  Ninian  turned  to  him  quickly,  and  then  to  the 
crowd,  —  through  which  they  were  still  cleaving  that 
curiously  acquiescent  way  which  white  faces  still  cleave 
through  dark  ones  —  "Then  I  trust,  my  son,"  he  said 
gently,  "that  for  your  sake  and  theirs  the  storm  may 
not  come." 

"Or  that  there  isn't  a  Satanic  majesty!"  retorted 
Captain  Bering,  cynically.  "That,  sir,  is  the  easiest  way 
out  of  the  difficulty." 


JULIET  21 S 

Lance  had  looked  round  on  the  crowd  also.  "  Well ! 
if  there  is,"  he  said,  **  and  I  had  to  paint  him,  Vd  take 
that  man's  face  as  my  model  for  Lucifer."  He  pointed 
to  a  gosaht  who  was  forming  the  centre  of  a  group  of 
gossipers  round  a  syrup-seller's  shop,  and  added — for  he 
knew  his  Milton  as  well  as  his  Shakespeare — ^^  The 
superior  fiend  who  gives  not  Heav'nfor  lost !  " 

"  Looks  a  bad  lot,  I  admit,"  remarked  Vincent,  care- 
lessly. "  Have  an  idea  I've  seen  him  before ;  in  gaol, 
I  believe.  Yes  !  I'm  sure  of  it.  He  is  the  fellow  Dillon 
told  me  was  going  to  get  his  ticket-of-leave  for  good 
conduct.  He  looks  scoundrel  enough  for  that !  But 
really,  sir  — "  he  turned  to  Father  Ninian  again  —  "I 
think  we  may  count  on  their  behaviour  now."  He  in- 
dicated the  crowd.  **  If  there  was  going  to  be  a  row 
it  would  have  come  off  before  this ;  now  they  will  settle 
down,  you'll  see,  and  go  on  to  the  next  camping-ground 
to-morrow  morning  as  if  nothing  had  gone  wrong.  They 
are  such  creatures  of  habit ;  you  could  see  that  from 
their  sticking  on  in  expectation  of  that  footling  old 
miracle  all  day  !  " 

Father  Ninian,  in  that  curiously  irrelevant  way  he  had, 
put  on  the  gold  pince-nez  which  always  dangled  over  his 
black  soutane,  and  looked  round  him  again.  "  They 
will  settle  down,"  he  said  quietly,  "  if  nothing  new 
crops  up  to  give  them  a  lead  into  new  ways.  That  is 
always  the  danger ;  and  a  very  small  thing  does  it, 
sometimes,  in  India." 

They  had  reached  the  courtyard  which  lay  between 
the  palace  and  the  Fort,  and  with  a  wave  of  his  hand  in 
farewell,  he  passed  along  the  wall  to  the  former,  while 
the  others,  striking  across  the  raised  union-jack  of  paths, 
made  for  the  latter.  The  yard  was  crammed  with 
pilgrims  on  their  way  to  bathe  on  the  river  steps. 

"  Who  the  deuce  are  those  fellows } "  said  Vincent, 
angrily,  as  half  a  dozen  figures  slipped  out  through  the 
door  in  the  bastion,  as  they  approached,  and  mixing 
with  the  crowd,  got  lost  in  it,  while  the  door  was  closed 
behind  them  by  some  unseen  hand.    "  I'll  talk  to  Roshan 


2l6  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

about  that.  He  was  complaining  only  this  morning 
that  the  men  were  breaking  out  of  barracks.  What 
else  can  he  expect  if  he  doesn't  look  out.  By  Jove !  I'll 
teach  'em !  " 

His  first  words,  indeed,  as  he  entered  the  outer 
courtyard  of  the  Fort,  was  to  order  a  sentry  down  to 
close  the  doors  against  all  comers  without  a  written 
pass  from  him,  and  as  he  went  by  the  guard-house  he 
gave  rather  a  sharp  reprimand  to  Roshan  Khan,  who 
happened  to  be  outside,  for  not  having  kept  his  eyes 
open  while  in  charge  of  the  Fort  during  his  absence. 
No  one  was  in  future  to  use  the  small  door ;  the  key 
was  to  be  brought  to  him,  and  all  passes  were  to  be 
stopped  for  that  night. 

*'  Roshan  looks  in  a  demon  bad  temper.  I  wonder 
what's  up .? "  remarked  Lance,  casually,  as  he  passed  on 
through  a  wicket  in  the  massive  closed  gates  to  the 
inner  courtyard,  where  the  officers'  quarters  lay,  hugging 
the  river  wall.  It  was  quite  a  citadel,  a  distinct  fortifi- 
cation of  itself,  with  no  entrance  or  exit  except  through 
the  outer  yard,  or  by  the  little  flight  of  steps  leading 
down  to  the  river,  at  the  foot  of  which  Lance  moored  his 
canoe. 

**  He  has  been  sulky  as  a  bear  with  me  these  last  few- 
days,"  replied  Captain  Bering,  with  a  contemptuous 
smile.  "  I  believe  the  old  Colonel  was  right  after  all,  and 
coming  here  has  put  wind  in  his  head.  I  shall  have 
to  teach  Mr.  Roshan  that,  good  man  as  he  is,  he  is  only 
a  risaldar,  before  long." 

"  Poor  devil,"  said  Lance  under  his  breath.  **  I'm 
always  a  bit  sorry  for  Roshan.  He  would  be  a  fine 
fellow  —  if  —  if  he  wasn't  so  — so  civilized." 

"Civilized,"  echoed  Vincent,  with  a  laugh.  "You 
haven't  seen  him  fight.  I  have.  Talk  of  devils ;  he  has 
got  one  in  him,  if  you  like  !  " 

He  certainly  had  at  that  moment,  when,  having  gone 
straight  to  his  quarters  after  Vincent's  reprimand,  he 
found  himself  alone,  and  free  to  show  his  feelings. 

And  yet,  had  he  been  calm,  he  could  scarcely  have 


JULIET  217 

told  wherein  the  grievance  lay  which  for  the  moment 
clamoured  for  —  no  —  not  redress  —  revenge. 

It  was  not  the  first  time  that  he  had  had  to  ignore 
hints,  innuendoes,  suggestions  of  Heaven  knows  what 
impossible  intrigues,  as  he  had  had  that  very  afternoon. 
It  was  not  the  first  time  that,  in  his  position  as  inter- 
mediary between  the  ignorance  of  the  native  soldier 
and  the  ignorance  of  the  English  officer,  he  had  had  to 
^  cd  canny ^  so  as  not  to  alienate  the  confidence  of  either. 
Indeed,  the  consciousness  of  the  necessity  for  this,  by 
enhancing  the  value  of  his  services,  had  always  been  a 
pride  to  him  hitherto.  And  these  particular  intrigues 
were  so  childish  ;  especially  if  —  he  paused  in  his  angry 
pacing  of  the  room,  and  smiled  complacently.  Why 
should  he  give  a  thought  to  an  impossible  plan,  when  a 
possible  one  lay  ready  to  his  hand }  If  he  married 
Laila,  the  land,  almost  the  title,  would  be  his  of  right. 
It  would  be  easy  anyhow  to  regain.  Then  with  a  fresh 
frown,  he  remembered  Vincent's  order.  That  would 
upset  his  plans.  He  had  meant  to  slip  out  by  the 
bastion  gate  just  before  —  say  an  hour  before  —  dawn, 
and  cross  over  to  the  palace.  Akbar  Khan  had  ar- 
ranged to  be  there  to  let  him  into  the  garden.  Now 
he  must  make  other  arrangements.  He  must  find  the 
old  eunuch,  change  the  hour  and  the  place ;  since 
nothing  —  no !  not  all  the  tyranny  in  the  world  — 
should  prevent  his  carrying  out  his  intention  of  seeing 
his  cousin,  and  claiming  her  as  his  —  his  by  right.  So 
he  must  settle  this  at  once ;  settle  it  before  there  was 
any  chance,  he  told  himself  bitterly,  of  his  superior 
officer  coming  out  of  the  mess  —  where  no  doubt  he  was 
guzzling  swine's  flesh  and  bibbing  wine  —  (that  faint 
amaze  at  the  presence  in  his  own  mind  of  such  anti- 
quated half-forgotten  ideas  assailed  him  again  at  this 
point)  to  encroach  further  on  his  liberty,  his  privileges. 

He  had  to  pass  the  troopers'  lines  on  his  way  to  the 
main  gate,  and  the  quick  salaams^  the  ready  smiles 
given  him  by  the  men,  as  they  lounged  and  smoked 
after  their  long  day  on  duty,  soothed  his  pride. 


21 8  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

The  Captain  had  certainly  said  they  had  behaved  well 
—  kindly,  and  discreetly ;  but  whose  merit  was  that  ? 
The  Englishman's  who  gave  the  word  of  command,  or 
his,  who  had  drilled  them  to  obedience,  who  lived  with 
them  day  and  night  ?  Without  such  as  he,  a  native 
regiment  could  not  be  managed,  if  he  chose  to  give 
the  word.  He  would  not,  of  course,  but  if  he 
chose  — 

He  set  his  teeth  as  he  walked  out  of  the  Fort,  and 
met  at  its  very  gate  that  surging  tide  of  patient,  eager 
faces  drifting  on,  and  back  again,  aimlessly. 

He  need  not,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  have  feared  any 
further  interference  from  Vincent  Bering,  for  the  latter, 
being  very  tired  after  the  long  day  in  the  sun,  and  hav- 
ing reason  to  know  that  part  of  the  night  time,  at  any 
rate,  which  is  usually  given  to  sleep  would  be  employed 
in  something  better,  had,  after  staving  off  hunger  with 
what  the  cook  would  produce  at  a  moment's  notice,  and 
postponing  the  dinner  hour,  gone  to  sleep  deliberately, 
advising  Lance  to  do  the  same. 

But  the  latter  had,  rather  to  his  own  surprise,  found 
this  impossible ;  not  even  over  a  cigar  in  the  balcony 
above  the  sliding,  rushing  river,  the  sound  of  which  was 
as  a  rule  sleep-compelling,  would  sleep  come ;  not  even 
in  the  cool  darkness  which  was  settling  on  Eshwara, 
despite  the  curious  hint  of  glow  lingering  in  the  sky. 

The  air  was  too  electrical,  he  decided.  And  then  — 
Erda !  He  had  slept  the  night  before,  after  she  had 
said  good-by  so  carelessly,  without  realizing  that  the 
good-by  was  for  ever.  And  he  had  not  had  time  to 
think  all  day.  But  now,  at  rest  in  the  cool  darkness, 
looking  from  his  lounge  chair  down  the  river  to  that 
other  balcony,  he  did  realize  it.  For  ever !  Yes  !  that 
regret  was  in  his  life  for  ever.  And  he  was  so  young. 
Only  twenty-five. 

Why  had  this  come  to  him } 

Erda  !     Erda,  —  his  heart's  desire. 

He  sat  there  voiceless,  sucking  mechanically  at  a 
cigar,  long  since  gone  out ;  but  that  was  as  much  the 


JULIET  219 

cry  at  his  heart  as  if  he  had  allowed  himself  a  fine 
frenzy  of  despair  in  older  fashion. 

And  he  imagined  her  as  he  had  seen  her  —  this  way, 
that  way,  every  way,  in  an  unending  torture  of  visions  — 
until  he  exhausted  reality,  and  fancy  showed  her  to  him 
in  her  wedding  dress.  And  then  he  felt  as  if  he  could 
kill  the  Reverend  David  Campbell  without  shame  or 
fear.  He  was  vaguely  ashamed  of  the  lack  of  shame, 
however,  especially  when  his  fancy  led  him  Into  endless 
mishaps  which  might  befall  a  man,  especially  a  mission- 
ary, before  his  wedding  day. 

*'  There  they  ate  a  missionary  —  '* 

Yes,  sometimes ;  but  there  was  not  much  time  left 
for  that  sort  of  end  — 

What  a  brute  he  was,  when  the  only  thing  that  mat- 
tered was  that  she  should  be  happy  and  content. 

But  would  she  be  so } 

It  went  on  and  on  and  on,  the  controversy  between 
himself  and  that  other  self,  so  that  he  felt  worn,  and 
harassed,  and  dirty,  and  altogether  undesirable,  when 
Vincent,  about  nine  o'clock,  reappeared,  dapper  and 
scented  as  usual,  in  his  mess  kit,  and  expressed  surprise 
at  finding  his  companion  still  undressed.  He  was  hun- 
gry as  a  hunter,  he  said ;  besides  he  wanted  to  have  a 
decent  interval  between  dinner  and  turning  in.  And 
that  must  be  early,  for  he  had  just  heard  from  the  police 
authorities  that  though  everything  was  quiet  for  the 
night,  absolutely  quiet,  they  thought  it  would  be  safer 
to  have  the  Pool  guarded  again  at  dawn,  in  case  of  acci- 
dents ;  since  none  of  the  pilgrims,  though  apparently 
quite  resigned,  had  as  yet  gone  on. 

"  They  never  do  till  the  next  day  ;  Pidar  Narayan  told 
me  so,"  commented  Lance,  crossly.  "  Why  should  they 
rake  us  up  at  such  an  unearthly  hour }  Why  can't  they 
let  the  people  have  a  row  if  they  want  one }  I'd  like 
it ;  give  a  fellow  something  to  do  in  this  beastly  hole." 

He  went  off  to  dress  moodily,  wishing  savage  wishes, 
so  adding,  perhaps,  to  that  electricity  in  the  air.  And 
Vincent  gave  it  his  quota  of  desire  also,  in  his  reckless 


220  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

determination  to  regain  Paradise,  as  it  was  lost,  through 
a  woman.  And  that  play  of  Romeo  and  Juliet  in  the 
scented  garden — Juliet,  whose  bounty  was  "as  bound- 
less as  the  sea  "  — was  a  bit  of  pure  paradise  to  him.  He 
had  never,  he  thought,  been  in  love  before.  He  had 
never  known  what  love  was.  Those  other  loves  of  his 
had  been  mean,  ungenerous,  calculating. 

So  he  was  at  his  best,  his  brightest,  during  dinner. 
Lance,  on  the  contrary,  was  at  his  worst,  his  dullest ; 
and  Vincent  made  this  his  excuse  for  going  to  his  room 
betimes.  He  was  not  due  at  the  palace  till  twelve,  but 
he  was  anxious  to  ensure  the  coast  being  clear,  and 
Lance  seemed  just  in  the  mood  when  a  fellow  sits  up 
sulkily,  out  of  pure  cussedness,  and  drinks  whiskey-and- 
water  if  he  can  find  a  companion  on  whom  to  vent  his 
cavillings. 

In  truth  Lance  would  have  liked  to  do  so.  He  wanted 
to  feel  miserable ;  but  after  Vincent  had  gone,  and  he 
was  left  alone  in  the  balcony,  sleep  began  to  assert 
itself.  He  found  even  his  despair  becoming  dreamy, 
and  being  obstinate,  tried  to  fight  against  the  fact.  The 
result  being  that  he  finally  fell  asleep  in  his  lounge 
chair  with  a  soundness  and  unconsciousness  usually  re- 
served for  bed.  Fell  asleep,  and  promptly  relaxed  into 
content  with  happy  dreams  of  Erda's  return  to  him ; 
for  his,  left  to  itself,  was  a  healthy  soul. 

And  so  were  the  vast  majority  of  those  which,  through 
patient  yet  eager  eyes,  were  looking  into  the  scarce-lit 
darkness  of  the  streets,  as  the  pilgrims,  crowded  into  an 
almost  solid  mass,  seemed  to  slide  with  a  slow,  almost 
unseen  movement,  through  them.  They  were  waiting 
for  the  dawn.  If  nothing  new  came  before  then,  they 
would  pass  on  towards  the  '  Cradle  of  the  Gods.'  So, 
scarcely  seen,  restless  yet  restful,  their  feet  on  the  next 
rung  of  the  golden  stairs,  they  waited. 

And  overhead  the  young  moon  had  risen  with  a 
copper-coloured  edge  to  its  crescent  of  light.  For  the 
glow  was  still  in  the  sky,  and  the  troopers  in  the  Fort, 
resting,  after  their  long  day,  in  Indian  fashion  by  sprawl- 


JULIET  221 

ing  on  their  beds  and  gossiping,  had  dragged  these 
beds  into  the  open  and  discarded  most  of  their  clothing, 
since  the  night  was  strangely  still  and  warm.  So  even 
the  wonder  what  had  become  of  the  risaldar-sahib  was 
languid. 

For  Roshan  Khan  had  not  returned.  And  yet,  as  he 
sat  in  a  quiet  courtyard  of  the  city,  with  closed  doors, 
realizing  how  late  it  was  growing,  he  had  no  fear  of 
further  reprimand.  On  the  contrary,  his  pulses  were 
bounding  with  the  certainty  that  he  would  gain  praise. 
And  there  was  something  beyond  this  mere  desire  for 
personal  advantage  in  the  keen-witted  diplomacy  with 
which  he  listened,  with  which  he  suggested,  with  which 
he  led  the  talkers  on  to  tell  what  it  was  of  the  utmost 
importance  that  he  should  know,  not  so  much  to  himself, 
as  to  the  Government  he  served.  For  his  vague  dis- 
content had  vanished,  his  well-reasoned,  well-founded 
loyalty  returned  at  this,  the  first  hint  at  anything  be- 
yond the  wild,  aimless  intrigue  with  which  every  Indian 
bazaar  teems.  But  here,  in  this  definite  plan,  by  the 
collaboration  of  his  troopers,  of  liberating  fifteen  hun- 
dred scoundrels, — or,  at  least,  desperadoes,  —  of  aping 
the  stroke  of  action  which  made  the  great  mutiny  of 
'57  possible,  was  something  tangible.  Something  which, 
when  known  to  the  uttermost,  must  be  told  without 
delay  to  his  superior  officer.  A  vast  pride  swept 
through  him,  as,  when  the  gongs  were  striking  one,  — 
short,  yet  with  lingering  vibration  in  the  dull,  still  air, 
—  he  made  his  way,  fast  as  he  could,  back  to  the  Fort. 
Without  him,  and  such  as  he,  faithful  despite  limita- 
tions, what  would  the  Masters  know  t 

Hours  before,  as  he  went  out,  he  had  arranged  with 
Akbar  Khan  that  the  palace  door  giving  on  the  great 
square  between  it  and  the  Fort  should  be  on  the  latch 
only,  so  that  he  might  slip  in  at  any  time  and  take  his 
chance  of  hiding  in  the  garden,  his  chance  of  seeing 
Laila  before  the  dawn  came  and  he  had  to  go  back  to 
the  Fort.  The  old  sinner,  indeed,  had  jumped  at  this 
indefinite  arrangement,  which  bound  him  to  nothing; 


222  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

which  made  it  unnecessary  for  him  even  to  broach 
the  subject  of  an  interview  to  his  mistress.  Since  what 
was  easier  to  say  than  that  it  had  been  impossible ; 
as,  indeed,  it  was  !  Perhaps  Roshan  Khan  had  himself 
grasped  this  fact ;  perhaps  in  insisting  on  this  entry  to 
the  garden  he  had  been  backing  more  than  his  own 
luck,  and  had  been  meditating  a  coup  d'etat  of  his  own. 
However  that  may  have  been,  all  was  forgotten  in  his 
newly  recovered  loyalty,  his  keen  ambition,  as  he  hur- 
ried back  to  the  Fort  intent  on  but  one  thing  —  the 
forewarning  and  forearming  of  those  whom  he  had 
long  ago  deliberately  chosen  as  his  masters. 

Some  of  his  men  were  still  lounging  about  on  their 
beds,  and  he  spoke  a  word  to  them  as  he  passed,  warn- 
ing them  to  be  ready  if  wanted.  So,  leaving  them  in 
sudden  vague  excitement,  he  passed  on  to  the  inner 
court.  Here,  where  Lance  Carlyon's  small  band  of  Sikh 
pioneers  were  quartered  in  the  long,  low  building  in 
which  the  fortified  gateway  stood,  no  one  was  astir. 
And  no  lights  were  visible  in  the  opposite  building 
where  Lance  and  Vincent  lived.  Doubtless  everyone 
was  in  bed. 

He  passed  on,  therefore,  swiftly  to  the  room  he  knew 
to  be  his  Captain's,  and  knocked.  There  was  no  answer. 
He  opened  the  door  and  looked  in.  It  was  empty.  A 
vague  wonder  assailed  him,  and  he  passed  on  to  Lance 
Carlyon's  room.  It  was  empty  also,  and  the  vague  un- 
easiness died  down.  They  must  be  sitting  up  still  in 
the  balcony  overlooking  the  river,  where  they  sat  every 
day  after  dinner.  Stupid  of  him  not  to  have  gone  there 
first ;  and  yet,  surely,  it  was  late.  Perhaps  they  were 
uneasy ;  perhaps  they  had  already  heard  !  An  open 
letter  "  On  Her  Majesty  s  Service  "  lying  on  the  dinner 
table  as  he  passed  through  the  mess  room  (which  was 
still  lit  up  —  sign  that  the  servants  had  gone  to  sleep 
awaiting  their  masters'  call)  attracted  his  attention.  He 
glanced  at  it,  half  fearing  to  find  himself  forestalled  by 
the  police  authorities.  No  !  It  was  from  them,  as  he 
had  seen  at  once ;  but  it  was  only  that  notice  for  dawn. 


JULIET  223 

Ah  !  what  was  this  ?  this  tiny  scrap  of  paper,  which 
had  been  twisted  to  a  cocked-hat  note,  lying  caught 
in  the  fold  of  the  foolscap,  with  the  two  words  — 
"  twelve  d clock  "  —  written  on  it  ? 

In  a  woman's  writing.  Roshan  knew  enough  of  in- 
vitations from  Englishwomen  to  be  sure  of  that. 

The  vague  uneasiness  returned,  as  he  went  on  to  the 
balcony  beyond  the  dining-room.  There  too,  the  swing- 
ing lamp  still  burnt,  and  showed  him  Lance  Carlyon 
fast  asleep  in  a  lounge  chair  ;  but  no  one  else. 

Where  was  Captain  Bering .?  Captain  Bering,  who 
had  the  key  of  the  little  door  in  the  bastion ;  Captain 
Bering,  who  had  had  a  note  with  "twelve  o'clock"  in 
it? 

A  sudden  thought  struck  him.  If  —  if  there  was 
anything  in  his  vague  fear  —  then,  by  taking  the  canoe, 
which  lay  at  the  bottom  of  the  stairs,  he  could  slip 
down  stream,  and  see  — 

Forgetting  everything  else,  Roshan  stole  softly  past 
the  sleeping  Lance,  and  went  down  the  stairs. 

The  canoe  was  not  there. 

Then  Captain  Bering  must  have  taken  it  and  gone  — 
whither  ? 

There  was  but  one  place  whither  he  was  likely  to  go 
alone  at  that  hour  of  the  night ;  one  place,  a  stair  like 
this  leading  up  to  a  balcony  over  the  river  where  he  had 
gone  once  before  with  a  woman,  a  woman  in  a  dress 
which  marked  her  for  what  she  was,  really  —  a  dress 
that  marked  her  secluded  —  which  made  t/iis,  shame 
unutterable ! 

Roshan's  impotent  fury  rose  hot  at  the  inexpressible 
humiUation.  The  thought  of  Captain  Bering  and  Laila 
alone  in  that  balcony  meant  but  one  thing  to  his  in- 
herited ideas.  No  glaze  of  romance  was  possible.  It 
was  shame  unutterable,  irredeemable.  Shame  that 
must  be  revenged  without  delay.  So,  forgetting  every- 
thing else  in  the  world  except  this,  he  passed  the  sleep- 
ing Lance  once  more,  hurried  back  to  his  quarters  for 
his  revolver,  and  only  stopping  to  see  that  one  chamber 


224  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

at  least  was  loaded,  made  his  way  to  that  door  which  he 
knew  would  be  on  the  latch. 

That  patient,  eager  crowd  was  still  thronging  the 
courtyard  as  he  crossed  it,  pausing  a  moment  beside 
the  great  gun  which  centred  the  union-jack  of  raised 
paths. 

The  "  Teacher  of  Religion  I  " 

Ay !  they  needed  a  teacher,  needed  a  lesson ;  these 
aliens,  these  usurpers,  these  depravers  of  women. 

Yet,  in  sober  truth,  Vincent  Dering,  at  that  moment 
sitting  in  the  little  balcony  alone  with  Laila  Bonaven- 
tura,  felt  quite  virtuous.  They  had  just  come  in  from 
the  garden,  where  they  had  been  strolling  and  whisper- 
ing, and  now,  as  they  sat  together,  without  a  word, 
scarcely  a  thought,  in  the  faint  light  of  the  young  moon 
and  a  red  jewelled  hand-lamp  —  which  Laila,  with  that 
unfailing  instinct  of  hers  for  all  that  matched  the  pas- 
sionate mystery  of  the  place,  had  set  in  a  carved  niche, 
where  it  looked  like  a  votive  offering  to  the  unseen  im- 
age of  a  saint — Vincent  could  feel  the  warm  ivory  of  her 
cheek  against  his  own,  hear  the  soft  chink  of  her  jewels 
as  they  slid  towards  him,  following  the  soft  warm  curves 
on  which  they  lay.  The  red  light  of  the  lamp  glittered 
faintly  in  red  stars  on  the  myriad  facets  of  looking-glass 
with  which  the  vaulted  roof  above  them  was  adorned. 
It  fell,  reddening  the  red  lights  on  the  gold-stiffened 
crimson  waves  of  her  dress,  that  sent  such  a  bewildering 
perfume  to  cloud  his  senses  with  passionate  content. 

A  vast  tenderness,  a  vast  triumph,  surged  through 
him  at  the  thought  of  her.  Who  dared  to  judge  her  by 
the  narrow  standards  of  to-day  —  she,  who  had  gone 
back  boldly  to  realities  ! 

This  was  what  poets  had  sung  since  time  began  ;  this 
was  what  the  world  had  exchanged  for  Paradise ! 

Juliet!   Juliet! 

And  if  he  was  the  ^^ god  of  her  idolatry,''  she  was  ta 
him  the  ^^  dearest  morsel  of  earths 

He  bent  and  whispered  the  name  to  her  with  a  kiss. 

And   as   he   did   so,   a   step,  swift,  bold,  masterful, 


TRAPPED  225 

sounded  in  the  passage  above ;  the  step  of  one  with  a 
right  to  be  there. 

Vincent,  startled,  sat  listening ;  but  Laila  was  on  her 
feet  in  a  second,  with  a  reckless  laugh. 

"Father  Laurence!"  she  cried.  **Well!  let  him 
come.  I'm  not  afraid!  For  he  loved  her.  He  must 
remember ! " 

So,  as  a  dim  figure  showed,  half  seen,  in  the  archway, 
she  stood  like  a  queen,  her  hand  raised,  her  head  thrown 
back  ;  a  sight  never  to  be  forgotten. 

"  There  is  no  use  in  being  angry,  guardian,"  she  called, 
in  her  full-throated  voice.  "It  is  too  late  for  that. 
Remember  —  "  She  paused,  gave  a  slight  scream,  and 
flung  herself  before  Vincent. 

There  was  a  flash,  a  second  scream,  and  then  the 
arches  rang  with  the  echoes  of  a  pistol-shot. 

"  Laila  !     Laila !  " 

"  You  damned  scoundrel !     You've  killed  her !  " 

"  Laila  !     Laila !  " 

There  were  two  voices  echoing  the  woman's  name, 
but  only  that  one  pistol-shot.  Then  two  useless  clicks 
of  a  trigger,  before,  with  an  oath,  Roshan  Khdn  flung 
the  revolver  from  him  and  fled. 


CHAPTER   XX 

TRAPPED 

But  that  pistol-shot,  as  it  pierced  the  hot,  sultry  air 
in  the  vaulted  archways,  was  caught  by  a  sudden  blast 
of  warm  wind,  sweeping  God  knows  whence,  to  God 
knows  where  !  and  was  blown  out  riverwards,  citywards. 
Blown  by  that  sudden  blast,  like  the  hot  breath  of  some- 
one's anger,  which  always  heralds  an  electrical  dust-storm. 
One  moment  there  is  the  stillness  of  the  uttermost  void 
brooding  over  the  deep  ;  the  next,  causelessly,  God  knows 
why  !  the  spirit  moving  palpably. 

And  so  it  is  always  when  the  ever-recurring  struggle 
Q 


226  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

for  the  right  road  to  that  lost  Paradise,  for  the  right 
method  of  regaining  that  bartered  birthright,  begins 
afresh  among  the  sons  of  Adam.  When  the  Hosts  of 
the  Lord, — fighting,  as  men  always  fight,  under  the 
banner  of  Right,  for  what  they  think  good  and  true, 
for  what  seems  to  them  to  bring  them  nearer  to  the 
golden  gates  —  change  armed  peace  for  war. 

It  was  so  now ;  and  Lance  Carlyon,  waking  to  the 
familiar,  yet  unfamiliar  sound  of  that  pistol-shot,  woke 
also  to  the  knowledge  that  someone  had  already  resorted 
to  that  last  argument  between  man  and  his  fellow. 

Who  was  it.-*     And  why.? 

As  he  stood,  still  half  dazed  by  sleep,  listening,  as  one 
does  instinctively,  for  another  shot  to  follow  the  first,  a 
new  sound  distracted  his  attention. 

Was  he  still  asleep  and  dreaming }  or  was  that  really 
Erda  Shepherd's  voice,  rising  towards  him  from  the 
sliding,  unseen  river .'' 

"  I  will  come  back  to  you  directly,"  it  said  in  Urdu. 
The  half-heard  promise  of  the  words  took  him  by  storm, 
making  him  forget  the  strangeness  of  the  language. 
Yet  even  that  made  his  bewilderment  more  utter.  And 
all  around  him,  about  him,  a  mist  —  or  was  it  a  cloud,  or 
what  was  it  ?  —  had  sprung  into  being.  A  wreath  as  of 
smoke  drifted  past  the  wide  arches  of  the  balcony,  blot- 
ting out  the  pale  shimmer  of  the  young  moon. 

The  swinging  lamp  above  his  head  darkened,  reddened, 
as  the  dust-atoms  leapt  from  the  earth  into  the  air,  obedi- 
ent to  the  call  of  that  mightiest  force  in  nature  which 
holds  the  world  together,  and  guides  it  on  its  way  among 
the  stars. 

Pidar  Narayan  had  been  right !  The  electrical  storm 
had  come ! 

But  Erda  had  come  with  it.  He  could  see  her  now, 
standing  at  the  top  of  the  river  steps,  dimmed  by  the 
dust-atoms  that  glittered  faintly  in  the  clouded  ray  of 
the  lamp  ;  could  see  her  —  tall,  slim,  white  —  with  a  red- 
gold  ball  in  her  hand. 

So  it  was  only  a  dream ;  he  was  asleep  still ! 


TRAPPED  227 

The  certainty  of  this,  the  knowledge  that  he  would 
wake  soon,  made  him  yield  to  impulse,  to  emotion,  as  he 
would  never  have  done  otherwise.  He  held  out  his  arms 
to  the  gracious  vision,  his  voice  rang  with  passion. 

"Erda!  Erda !  You  have  come  back  to  me!  —  the 
world's  desire  —  my  heart's  desire!" 

And  then,  suddenly,  his  heart  a-tremble  for  the  first 
time,  he  drew  back  from  his  own  fervour  almost  apolo- 
getically ;  for  the  scared  look  of  the  face  seen  through 
those  earth-atoms  had  brought  it  home  to  him  that  this 
was  no  dream.  This  was  Erda  Shepherd  herself,  the 
woman  who  was  the  ^^ dearest  atom  of  God's  earth''  to 
him.  And  she  had  come  back,  for  what }  Not  to  listen 
to  his  passion,  anyhow. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ? "  he  asked  briefly,  sternly  ;  for 
it  came  home  to  him  also  that  the  cause  must  be  grave. 

She  gave  a  little  shiver;  the  hearing  of  that  first 
greeting  had  upset  her  calm,  her  courage,  at  last.  Yet 
they  had  been  firm  till  then  ;  and.  Heaven  knows  !  the 
long  hours  of  slipping  through  the  rapids  in  the  wake 
of  that  heaving,  plunging  mass  of  logs  had  been  trying 
enough  to  anyone.  Then  for  the  last  half  hour,  since 
Am-ma  had  cut  the  raft  adrift  to  follow  them  at  its 
leisure  through  the  slacker  currents,  and,  in  obedience 
to  her  order,  had  forged  ahead  with  his  paddle,  her 
anxiety  had  risen  to  fever-pitch ;  since  the  night,  so  far 
as  she  could  judge,  must  be  waning  fast,  and  her  errand 
would  be  useless  if  she  were  not  in  Eshwara  before  the 
dawn.  For,  as  she  had  listened  to  Am-ma's  garrulous 
talk  while  he  steered,  the  conviction  had  grown  that  the 
danger  to  peace  and  safety  —  if  there  was  any  —  lay  in 
the  future,  not  in  the  past ;  that  this  dawn,  and  not 
yesterday's,  was  to  be  the  signal  for  the  insensate,  al- 
most incredible  attempt  to  wreck  authority.  An  attempt 
which  yet  —  incredible,  insensate  though  it  be  —  might 
bring  death  to  —  to  one  she  held  very  dear. 

She  admitted  so  much  now  to  herself,  and,  pulling 
that  self  together,  looked  that  dear  one  in  the  face. 
** There  is  a  good  deal  the  matter,"  she  said.     "You 


228  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

had  better  call  Captain  Bering  to  hear  it,  too ;  it  will 
save  time." 

He  nodded  acquiescence,  but  ere  he  left  her,  the  in- 
stinct in  him  to  guard  his  **  dearest  atom  "  to  the  utter- 
most from  others,  made  him  set  a  chair  for  her,  and, 
glancing  round  for  a  wrap,  take  the  mess  jacket  he  had 
laid  aside  for  a  smoking  coat,  and  fold  it  round  her. 
For  the  air  had  grown  suddenly  chill,  as  it  always  does 
in  a  sand-storm. 

''You  must  be  cold  in  that  dress,"  he  said.  As  he 
did  so  the  daintiness  of  it  struck  him,  the  scent  of  the 
orange  blossoms  made  him  turn  pale.  Despite  his 
hurry,  his  certainty  that  something  serious  was  ahead, 
he  paused  to  ask  sharply :  "  That  is  your  wedding  dress, 
isn't  it  .?"  — 

"  I  am  not  married,  if  you  mean  that ! "  she  answered 
as  sharply.  Then  she  flushed  up  angrily,  more  at  the 
comprehension  shown  in  her  own  answer  than  the 
meaning  in  his  question,  and  burst  out :  "  What  does  it 
matter  if  I  am  —  or  if  it  is }  Go !  I  tell  you,  and  call 
Captain  Bering!" 

Yet,  when  he  was  gone,  she  lay  back  in  the  chair  and 
shivered  again ;  all  the  more  because  of  the  unaccus- 
tomed touch  about  her  throat  of  the  gold  lace  on  a  mess 
jacket.  How  red  it  looked  against  her  white  dress ! 
And  what  a  lot  of  little  gold  buttons  there  were  at  its 
edge  :  foolish,  useless,  little  ornamental  gilt  buttons, 
round  and  red-gold,  like  — 

The  comparison  brought  back  Lance's  cry  of  welcome, 
and  made  her  realize  that,  quite  mechanically,  she  still 
held  in  her  hand  that  useless,  foolish,  unnecessary 
orange ! 

That,  of  course,  was  what  had  made  him  remember; 
had  made  him  say  those  words  which  had  come  like  the 
writing  on  the  wall  to  remind  her  of  her  own  guilt. 

She  flung  the  fruit  from  her,  hastily,  into  the  unseen 
river  beyond  the  arches.  Only  just  in  time,  ere  Lance 
reentered,  with  a  puzzled  face. 

"  I  can't  find   Bering  anywhere,"  he   said  vexedly. 


TRAPPED  .  229 

"He  is  not  in  his  room.  Hasn't  been  to  bed,  either; 
though  he  turned  in  early  saying  he  was  half  asleep.  I 
wonder  what  is  up  ?  Can  he  have  heard  already,  do  you 
think  ?  Scarcely  ;  and  he  would  not  have  gone  without 
wakiwg  me."     His  surprise  seemed  to  absorb  him. 

"Then  I  must  teW -you,  for  there  is  no  time  to  be  lost," 
interrupted  Erda,  impatiently.  Yet,  even  in  her  stren- 
uous desire  to  make  him  understand  quickly,  she  did  not 
fail  to  explain,  breathlessly,  how  she  came  to  be  dressed 
as  she  was.  She  had  been  trying  on  her  wedding  dress 
to  see  if  it  fitted,  and  had  gone  into  the  garden  for  —  for 

—  flowers,  when  Am-ma  and  his  raft  had  come  floating 
down  the  river. 

And  was  not  that  all  true  ?  she  asked  herself  passion- 
ately, as  she  told  the  tale.  It  was  all  of  the  truth,  any- 
how, that  he  or  anyone  else  was  ever  to  know.  .;;. 

So  she  had  come  to  warn  them,  as  she  was.  ^ 

A  great  joy  at  her  courage  filled  Lance  as  he  listened, 
for  to  most  men  the  possibility  of  a  woman  acting  as  a 
man  might  act  comes  as  a  wonder. 

"  It  was  awfully  plucky  of  you,"  he  began  ;  but  she  cut 
him  short  with  a  question  as  to  what  was  to  be  done  now. 

"Warn  Dillon,  first  of  all,"  he  said  readily.  "We 
have  a  wire  laid  on,  you  know.     I  only  hope  this  infernal 

—  I  beg  your  pardon  —  dust-storm  won't  interfere  with 
the  connection.  You  had  better  come  over  with  me  to 
the  office;  it  is  just  across  the  yard,  and  I  don't  like 
leaving  you  alone.     Do  you  mind  ? " 

"I'll  come,  of  course, — but  I  must  make  sure  of 
Am-ma  waiting  first,"  she  added,  with  a  ring  in  her 
voice ;  the  ring  of  a  vigorous  vitality  which  finds  itself 
face  to  face  with  action.  "He  said  the  raft  couldn't 
overtake  us  for  half  an  hour.  But  he  must  not  go,  any- 
how, and  he  will  want  to.  I  had  difficulty  in  getting 
him  to  leave  it,  as  it  was.  But  I  had  to  make  him.  I 
had  to  be  in  time  !  " 

"And  you  are  —  loads  of  time  !  "  he  called,  as  he  ran 
down  the  river  steps  before  her,  to  give  the  order.  "  It 
isn't   two  o'clock   yet,  and  — "  he  paused  abruptly,  on 


230  .  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

seeing,  to  his  surprise,  that  only  Am-ma's  strange  craft 
lay  sidhng  against  the  bottom  step,  over  which  little 
waves  were  curving  hurriedly,  to  reach  up  the  wall,  as 
if  the  water-atoms  were  as  restless  as  those  of  earth,  as 
eager  to  seek  a  new  element.  For  the  air  was  growing 
darker,  thicker  every  instant  with  the  intruders.  He 
looked  round  hastily,  but  there  was  no  sign  of  the  canoe 
anywhere.  Yet  he  had  seen  it  moored  to  its  ring  before 
dinner ! 

Vincent  must  have  taken  it.  Whither }  An  answer 
leapt  to  Lance's  mind,  and  he  flushed  up,  even  in  the 
dark,  redly.  If  this  was  so  —  what  the  deuce  was  to 
be  done } 

There  was  an  added  confusion,  an  added  responsibility 
in  his  face  as  he  ran  back  to  where  Erda  stood  waiting 
him,  and,  catching  up  a  lamp  from  the  mess  table,  started 
with  her  close  at  his  heels  for  the  office.  "  That  is  the 
first  thing,  anyhow ! "  he  muttered,  half  to  himself. 
"Dillon  must  be  warned  —  " 

"  And  perhaps  Captain  Bering  wilt  be  back  by  then," 
she  suggested  cheerfully,  as,  with  the  mess  jacket  worn 
as  it  should  be  for  greater  convenience  of  action  and 
greater  protection  (she  had  slipped  her  arms  into  it, 
deliberately,  while  waiting  for  Lance),  she  followed  in 
the  little  halo  of  dull,  red  light  cast  by  the  lamp  through 
the  dust-mist. 

The  courtyard  was  still  without  sign  of  life ;  for  there 
was  nothing  to  guard  here.  The  massive  gates  of  th« 
citadel  once  closed,  and  a  sentry  outside  the  wicket, 
there  could  be  no  fear  of  secret  comings  and  goings. 

"  I  hope  to  God  he  may,"  said  Lance,  ahead,  and  his 
tone  made  the  girl  wonder. 

His  face,  too,  surprised  her,  as,  sitting  down  to  the 
instrument,  he  signalled  for  attention.  No  doubt  when 
time  is  an  object,  there  must  always  be  a  sense  of  strain 
in  that  pause  before  the  answering  tinkle  comes  to  tell 
that  a  human  hand  and  brain  is  at  the  other  end  of  the 
thin  wire  which  means  so  much,  but  there  was  more 
than  that  in  Lance  Carlyon's  frown. 


TRAPPED  231 

In  truth,  as  he  waited,  he  was  not  thinking  so  much 
of  what  would  happen  if  the  communication  was  inter- 
rupted, but  what  was  to  be  done  if  it  was  not.  Think- 
ing that  he  must,  somehow,  warn  Vincent.  Thinking 
how  awkward  it  would  be  for  him  if  there  was  a  row, 
and  he  absent,  as  it  were,  without  leave ! 

So  it  was  Erda  who  recalled  him  to  the  wider  issue. 
"What  are  you  going  to  do,  if  Dr.  Dillon  doesn't  hear.?" 

She  had  to  raise  her  voice  a  little,  for  something — 
either  coming  wind  or  far-distant  thunder — had  brought 
a  curious,  faint  reverberation  to  the  air. 

It  seemed  to  come  from  all  quarters,  scarcely  distin- 
guishable, yet  unmistakable,  like  the  roll  of  a  half- 
muffled  drum,  or  a  deep  organ  note  quivering  into 
silence. 

The  darkness  all  about  them  grew  thicker  and  thicker. 
Lance,  close  beside  her  in  that  red  lamp  circle,  showed 
as  if  seen  through  gauze.  How  unreal  it  all  was  !  Her- 
self, most  of  all,  in  a  mess  jacket,  and,  of  course  —  but 
this  thought  came  second  —  her  wedding  dress!  And 
then  it  struck  her  that  she,  herself,  was  more  unreal  than 
anything  else.  To  be  there  at  dead  of  night,  feeling 
no  fear,  only  a  sort  of  savage  interest  — 

"But  if  he  doesn't  hear,"  she  persisted,  "you  will 
have  to  go  down  the  river  and  warn  him." 

He  nodded.  And  yet  his  thought  went  first  to  the 
fact  that,  if  he  had  to  do  this,  if  Roshan  Khan  had  to  be 
left  in  charge  of  the  relief,  it  would  be  still  more  awk- 
ward for  Vincent  Dering. 

Tring-a-tring-tring  ! 

The  answering  tinkle  brought  a  little  breath  of  joy  to 
them  both  ;  but  Erda  felt  inclined  to  stamp  her  feet  at 
the  slow  precision  with  which  Lance  —  who  had  to 
remember  each  equivalent  sign  —  spelt  out  his  message. 
He  could  not  be  quicker,  of  course,  and  yet  surely  he 
might !  She  longed  to  snatch  at  the  handles  herself, 
though  she  could  not  signal  at  all. 

"There,  that's  done!"  she  cried,  as  a  continuous 
short  rattle  followed  from  the  other  end,  which  Lance 


232  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

translated  into  —  "  All  rights  await  you ^  "  Now !  what 
is  to  be  done  next  ?  " 

"  Roshan  Khan!  —  he'll  get  the  men  together,"  an- 
swered Lance,  already  on  his  way  to  the  wicket  in  the 
gate.  To  his  surprise,  it  was  closed.  He  knocked,  no 
answer  came.  Erda,  holding  the  lamp,  looked  at  him 
startled. 

"  Sentry  !  "  he  called.  "  Sentry  !  Open  the  door ! 
'Miracle!''' 

It  was  the  password  for  the  night,  given  by  Captain 
Bering  in  contemptuous  memory  of  the  day  ;  but  it  pro- 
duced no  result.  The  wicket  remained  obstinately 
closed. 

** They've  locked  us  in  !  "  whispered  Erda;  the  lower- 
ing of  her  voice  being  due  to  a  swift  instinct  that  the 
less  fuss  made  the  better ;  the  less  chance  of  interrup- 
tion. 

Lance  bent  his  ear  to  the  keyhole  to  listen.  Those 
dull,  muffled  reverberations  —  either  distant  thunder,  or 
faint,  ineffective  explosions  of  electricity  close  at  hand 
—  were  louder  now;  but  he  could  hear  no  sound  above 
them.     He  shook  his  head. 

Erda  had  the  lamp  on  the  ground  in  a  second,  and 
was  beside  it,  her  red-gold  hair  in  the  dust,  as  she  peered 
through  a  three-inch  iron  grating  between  the  iron- 
rimmed  door  and  the  iron  lintel. 

When  she  rose  up  her  face  was  like  the  iron  also. 

"  They've  trapped  us  !  "  she  whispered.  *'  There  is  a 
sentry  outside  —  I  saw  his  feet.  Come  away,  and  let  us 
settle  what  to  do.  And  say  something,  something 
angry  —  you  know  what  I  mean." 

"  Damn  that  brute  !  "  said  Lance,  cordially,  in  a  loud 
voice,  "  where  the  deuce  has  the  sentry  gone  to }  I'll 
have  it  out  with  him  to-morrow,  the  infernal  —  " 

Erda,  ahead  with  the  lamp,  turned  to  look  back,  and 
put  her  finger  on  her  lips  reproachfully.  "  That's  quite 
enough,"  she  said  ;  but  she  said  it  with  a  smile.  That 
vigorous  delight  in  action  which  some  women  feel  was 
making  her  blood  race  through  her  veins. 


TRAPPED  233 

"  Now  what's  to  be  done  ?  "  she  said  swiftly,  as  she 
put  the  lamp  down  on  the  mess  table  again.  "Let's 
think  hard." 

The  gate  was  closed  against  interference  with  —  with 
—  something  ! 

That  was  evident.  Proof  positive,  therefore,  that 
Am-ma's  tale  was  true. 

So  it  followed  that  the  most  urgent  need  for  help  was 
at  the  gaol. 

But  how  to  reach  it,  and  with  whom } 

Lance's  thoughts  turned  instantly  to  Roshan  Khan. 
Was  he  —  could  he  be  in  the  plot }  Surely  not.  Yet 
with  or  without  his  knowledge,  the  outer  court  was  in 
the  hands  of  rebels  who  thought  their  English  officers 
were  caught  like  rats  in  a  trap ;  for,  of  course,  they  did 
not  know  Dering  was  absent. 

And  so  it  was.  He  and  his  pioneers  —  twenty  or 
thereabouts  —  were  in  a  trap.  What  could  they  do  to  get 
out  of  it }  Their  arms,  scaling  ladders,  everything,  were 
in  the  outside  courtyard.  What  would  be  the  use, 
either,  of  trying  to  force  the  door }  Mere  waste  of  time. 
The  thing  required  was  to  prevent  those  fifteen  hun- 
dred men  with  a  criminal  past  being  let  loose  on  Esh- 
wara,  let  loose  —  as  men  like  them  had  been  in  the 
Mutiny  —  to  give  a  lead  over. 

And  that  —  how  was  that  to  be  done } 

He  looked  across  to  Erda,  and  took  sudden  comfort 
in  the  quick  intelligence  of  her  face. 

"You  had  better  take  my  place  with  Am-ma,"  she 
said  sharply.  "  Go  down  stream  to  the  spit,  cut  across 
by  the  mission  house,  and  chance  getting  over  to  the 
police  camp." 

He  had  thought  of  this  before.  The  extra  police, 
with  their  two  officers,  who  had  come  over  to  see  the 
festival  through  peacefully,  were  encamped  above  the 
boat-bridge  and  though,  of  course,  most  of  the  men 
would  be  scattered  on  duty  through  the  town,  even 
some  help  would  be  better  than  none.  Yet  how  to 
leave  Erda,  not  alone  even,  but  with  twenty  men  whose 


234  ^^-^  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

loyalty  would  depend  largely  —  as  it  always  did  —  on 
action,  on  their  having  someone  to  fight  ? 

"  But  you,"  he  began  — 

"I'll  stay  here.  They  won't  try  to  come  in  —  yet  a 
while.     I  am  not  afraid  of  being  alone." 

"I  wouldn't  mind  your  being  alone,"  he  put  in,  "but 
my  Sikhs  —  " 

"  Your  Sikhs,"  she  echoed.  "Are  they  here  .?  Then 
why  — } " 

"They  have  no  arms  —  I  could  find  some,  perhaps — " 

—  His  words  —  both  their  words  —  jostled  each  other 
in  sheer  haste. — 

"  Yes  !  then  why  don't  you  call  them  .-* "  — 

"  How  can  I  use  them .?  —  trapped  like  a  rat . 
They  —  they  might  be  worse  than  useless,  without 
something  to  do — without  a  lead  over  —  don't  you 
see  1  —  and  there  is  nothing  —  " 

— "  Nothing  ! "  she  echoed,  almost  savagely,  as  she 
clasped  and  unclasped  her  hands,  dragging  the  fingers 
through  each  other,  in  sheer  straining  after  some 
thought  on  which  to  clutch,  in  cruel  whipping  and 
spurring  of  her  wits  against  that  inaction. 

Nothing !  Nothing !  The  word  seemed  to  fill  the 
world. 

Nothing  in  earth  or  air  or  fire  or  — 

"Stay!"  she  cried,  with  a  gasp.  "The  raft!  The 
raft !  Am-ma  shall  fetch  it  —  it  must  be  close  by,  now. 
There  will  be  room.  It  can  float  down  to  opposite  the 
gaol." 

He  stared  at  her  as  she  stood  in  her  white,  and  scar- 
let, and  gold. 

"By  Jove!"  he  said  softly  "by  Jove,  you've  got 
it!" 

The  next  instant  he  was  off  to  rouse  his  men,  and 
she  was  on  the  bottom  step  giving  Am-ma  his  orders, 
short,  sharp,  clear. 

But  when  Lance  came  back  again  to  look  out  what 
arms  and  ammunition  he  could  lay  hands  on,  he  found 
her,  in  his  room,  sorting  cartridges  as  if  she  had  done 


TRAPPED  235 

it  all  her  life ;  and  her  face  turned  to  him  all  aglow  and 
splendid. 

"  We  shall  manage  it !  Am-ma's  gone.  He  didn't 
want  to,  but  I  told  him  I'd  kill  the  baby  if  he  didn't. 
I  suppose  it  was  wrong," — though  her  woman's  tongue 
sought  speech,  her  woman's  hands  stuck  to  their  work 
—  "  but  I  couldn't  help  it.     I  felt  so  savage." 

*'  You  are  very  brave,"  he  said  simply. 

"  Brave  !  "  she  echoed.  "  Why  not }  People  talk  as 
if  women  always  had  to  try  and  not  be  afraid ;  but  we 
are  not  all  like  that.  Some  of  us  want  to  fight.  I  do, 
always." 

She  looked  it,  as,  when  all  was  ready,  she  leant, 
straining  her  eyes  into  the  darkness  for  a  hint  of 
Am-ma's  return.  "  He  must  come,"  she  muttered  to 
herself,  **he  shall  come!" 

And  he  did.  A  bigger  wave  came  sweeping  up  to 
the  wall  as  a  herald,  and  then  a  voice  calling  for  a  rope. 
Half  a  dozen  were  ready  posted  in  the  men's  hands 
from  various  points  of  vantage.  They  flew  outwards ; 
one,  from  Am-ma's  hands  inwards  to  a  group  holding 
a  lantern  on  the  steps.  So,  with  a  silent  haul,  the 
pioneers  had  the  raft  stopped,  and  sidling  slowly  back 
to  mooring  against  the  wall. 

Then  Lance  turned  to  Erda  hesitating,  divided  be- 
tween his  loyalty  to  Vincent,  and  to  her. 

"The  palace  ought  to  be  warned,"  he  said  briefly  — 
"  if  I  go  there  ahead  on  Am-ma's  craft,  I  could  pick  you 
up  on  your  way  down.     Could  you  manage  } " 

She  gave  a  look  round  on  the  men,  eager  with  the  sudden 
excitement,  with  the  rush,  with  the  very  novelty  of  it 
all,  and  laughed — positively  laughed.  "  Manage  t  Yes! 
of  course  I  can  manage — havildar!  see  those  cartridges 
are  put  well  back  out  of  the  wet  —  stay !  bring  down 
that  table,  someone,  and  give  it  a  lash  —  " 

Yet,  despite  this  absolute  lack  of  fear,  despite  the  fact 
that  she  evidently  wanted  and  desired  no  more  considera- 
tion than  a  man.  Lance  felt  a  wild  dislike  to  leaving  her 
there  alone,  as  he  stepped  on  to  Am-ma's  skin  craft,  and, 


236  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

edging  his  way  along  by  the  wall,  prepared  to  drift  down 
to  the  palace  balcony.  It  was  mirk  dark  now,  and  he 
had  no  fear  of  being  seen  by  the  crowd  on  the  bathing 
steps  and  the  courtyard,  though  he  punted  his  way  with 
the  paddle  shaft  within  a  yard  or  two  of  the  shore ;  for 
he  wanted  to  judge  how  far  excitement  had  spread,  how 
far  the  crowd  was  aware  of  what  was  coming  at  dawn. 

To  judge  by  appearances,  not  at  all.  There  was  no 
more  restlessness,  no  more  movement  than  was  inevitable 
in  such  a  concourse  of  men,  women,  and  children.  Here 
and  there  files  of  shadowy  forms  drifted  about,  but  the 
most  of  them,  seen  by  the  little  lights  set  on  the  ground 
beside  each  group,  were  in  heaps,  like  the  heaps  of  dead 
on  a  battle-field,  huddled  up  on  each  other,  sleeping,  rest- 
ing, indistinguishable,  shrouded  in  their  shawls,  waiting 
for  the  dawn  to  come. 

And,  above  the  soft,  yet  increasing  murmur  of  the 
still  windless  storm,  came  a  softer  murmuring  of  prayers, 
a  weird  low  chanting. 

The  Hosts  of  the  Lord  had  not  yet  risen  to  battle. 
The  Spirit  had  not  moved ;  the  Word  had  not  been  made 
manifest. 

The  palace,  also,  lay  as  yet  undisturbed,  unseen,  in 
the  darkness.  Except  for  a  glimmer  of  red  light  just 
above  the  river,  a  paler  glimmer  closer  at  hand. 

The  red  light  must  be  by  the  stairs  for  which  he  was 
steering. 

The  other }  — 

He  did  not  know,  but  as  he  slipped  past  it  another 
murmuring  as  of  prayer  seemed  to  come  from  within.  It 
must  come  from  the  chapel ;  if  so,  then  Pidar  Nardyan 
must  be  awake  also.  He  felt  a  certain  relief  at  the 
thought  when  he  caught  sight  of  the  canoe  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  steps.  Then  Vincent,  as  he  had  feared,  was 
there ;  but  not  on  the  errand  he  had  feared,  if  Pidar 
Narayan  knew  of  it.  So,  mooring  his  strange  craft  to 
the  canoe,  he  ran  up  the  stairs  eagerly. 


MARGHERITA  2^ 

CHAPTER    XXI 

MARGHERITA 

Father  Ninian  had  been  awake  all  night.  He  had 
been  vaguely  uneasy  all  day,  conscious,  with  that  fine 
perception  of  his,  that  something  was  amiss.  But  it 
was  no  fear  of  what  might  happen  which  had  kept  him 
watching  when  others  slept.  It  was  the  memory  of 
something  which  had  happened ;  for,  by  a  coincidence 
that  for  more  than  fifty  years  had  never  lost  its  mystical 
significance  for  Ninian  Bruce — sentimentalist  as  he  was 
to  his  finger  tips  —  the  night  of  the  Vaisakh  festival, 
when  the  pilgrims  watched  for  the  dawn  to  guide  them 
on  their  way  to  the  'Cradle  of  the  Gods,' was  to  him, 
personally,  the  saddest  and  gladdest  of  the  whole  year. 
Since  it  was  the  night  on  which  he  had  sinned  the  great 
sin  of  his  life,  and  repented  of  it,  even  in  the  sinning. 

And  that  sinning,  that  repenting,  was  no  slight  thing 
to  him.  It  was  the  man  himself ;  for  the  passion  that 
was  in  him  in  his  youth  was  in  him  in  his  old  age.  It 
had  only  changed  its  dwelling-place.  It  had  fled  from 
the  senses,  and  found  refuge  in  the  emotions.  In  a  way, 
indeed,  by  thus  seeking  freedom  from  it,  he  had  fallen 
into  a  greater  thraldom,  so  that  his  whole  life  had  been 
as  much  swayed  by  this  renunciation  of  a  woman  as  it 
would  have  been  by  her  possession. 

Old  as  he  was,  this  very  night  had  brought  him  — 
with  the  thought  that  Death  could  not  delay  much 
longer,  and  that  next  Vaisakh  festival  might  find  him 
no  lonely  watcher  —  that  thrill  of  self-absorption  in 
another  self,  that  claim  for  all,  which  is  the  essence  of 
passion.  For  this  woman,  waiting  for  him  in  the  land 
where  there  is  no  marrying  or  giving  in  marriage,  was 
still  a  woman  ;  still  the  one  of  all  God's  creatures  whom 
he  claimed,  and  who  claimed  him,  even  as  the  first 
woman  claimed  the  first  man  in. Paradise. 

So  he  had  passed  the  night  watches  of  the  Festival  of 
SDrine  as  he  had  always  passed  them.     Partly  in  his 


238  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

room,  that  room  made  holy  by  her  presence  in  his  heart, 
partly  in  the  chapel,  made  holy  by  the  Bodily  Presence 
of  Him  for  Whose  sake  he  had  renounced  her.  The  two 
holinesses  were  inextricably  mixed  in  Pidar  Narayan's 
mind. 

He  had  finished  one  of  the  masses  for  the  repose  of  a 
sinning  yet  sainted  soul,  and,  before  repeating  the  next, 
was  confessing  his  own  repentance  in  his  room,  when 
that  hasty  footstep  along  the  passage,  which  alarmed 
those  two  lovers  in  the  balcony  nearer  the  garden,  had 
resounded  through  the  arches.  It  had  disturbed,  but 
not  startled  him,  its  very  boldness  reassuring  him  of  its 
right  to  be  there.  Probably  it  was  some  messenger  from 
the  police  camp  or  the  Fort.  So  he  had  risen  from  his 
knees  calmly  and  passed  into  the  chapel,  which  lay  be- 
tween his  room  and  the  balcony,  in  order  to  see  who  it 
could  be.  For  the  candles  were  lit  on  the  Altar  and  sent 
a  faint  light  into  the  vaulted  passage  beyond. 

It  was  as  he  paused,  in  passing,  to  do  homage  to  that 
Bodily  Presence  upon  the  Altar,  which  was  ready  —  as 
he  was  in  his  robes  —  for  the  service  of  love  which  was 
to  him,  as  a  priest,  his  duty,  as  a  man  a  joy  unspeakable, 
that  the  pistol-shot  came  clamouring  through  the  arches, 
followed  by  those  despairing  cries. 

What  they  were  he  could  not  distinguish,  but  that 
they  were  urgent  was  unmistakable,  and  had  he  been 
young  as  he  had  been  on  that  night  long  years  ago  in 
the  balcony  above  the  pale  flood  of  the  Tiber,  he  could 
not  have  been  quicker  to  reach  the  armoury,  seize  the 
long  rapier,  which  he  had  not  used,  save  in  play,  since 
those  ruffling  days  in  Rome,  and  run  out  into  the  wide, 
dim  passage  whence  the  sound  had  reached  him. 

None  too  soon  !  Someone  was  already  flying  down  it. 
He  pulled  himself  up  for  attack,  but  the  figure  ere  he  could 
lunge  at  it  was  past  him,  desperate,  indifferent,  fling- 
ing him  against  the  wall  as  it  continued  its  reckless  way 
to  the  outer  door,  where,  with  swift  opening  and  closing, 
it  disappeared  into  the  crowded  courtyard,  out  of  sight 
—  beyond  recall ! 


MARGHERITA  239 

He  stood  for  a  moment,  stupefied.  What  was  Roshan 
Khan  doing  there  ?  For  that  faint  h'ght  from  the  Altar 
had  given  him  a  glimpse  of  a  familiar,  dark  face,  Roshan 
Khan's  without  a  doubt ! 

"Laila!  Laila ! " 

The  cry  was  clearer  this  time  and  the  blood  left  his 
fine  old  face  in  sudden  doubt  as  he  turned  swiftly  to  his 
left.  Turned,  and  saw  a  faint  red  glow  through  an  arch 
far  down  the  passage. 

That  was  the  arch  leading  down  into  the  balcony  that 
was  never  lit  up  —  that  was  never  to  be  lit  up  because 
of  something  that  had  happened  there  long  ago  — because 
of  the  something  which  had  begun  a  tragedy. 

Why  was  it  lit  up }  A  stronger  fear  caught  at  his 
heart.     Could  Laila  }  —  No  !  —  impossible  ! 

He  ran  on,  and  the  next  moment  was  realizing  that 
some  tragedy  had  ended  in  that  balcony. 

But  what  > 

Who  was  the  woman  in  native  dress  who  stood  with  a 
man's  arm  around  her  —  a  man  in  a  scarlet  and  gold 
mess  jacket.?  Ah!  —  that  was  Captain  Bering,  un- 
doubtedly. But  the  woman }  The  woman  in  scarlet 
and  gold  also  —  God  in  Heaven!  —  had  the  dead  — 

As  he  stared,  the  long,  supple  limbs,  so  clearly  out- 
lined under  their  cunningly  contrived  draperies,  seemed 
to  lose  themselves  in  the  colour,  the  glitter  of  rich  stuff ; 
one  white  arm,  losing  its  hold  on  a  cuff  of  scarlet  and 
gold,  swung  back  helplessly,  and  Vincent  Bering,  with 
a  passionate  entreaty  to  his  darling  not  to  be  afraid,  to 
look  up,  and  tell  him  where  she  was  hurt,  sank  to  one 
knee  the  better  to  support  what  he  held. 

And  so  the  face,  tilted  backwards  over  his  shoulder, 
came  in  view. 

Laila  ! 

For  an  instant  Ninian  Bruce  stood  bewildered.  Then 
all  his  youth,  the  pride  of  birth,  the  dash,  and  the  fire 
which  had  made  that  youth  what  it  had  been,  rose  up 
in  him.  The  blood  surged  back  to  his  face  in  wild 
anger,  in  savage  sense  of  insult,  and  desire  for  revenge. 


240  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

'^  How  dare  you  !  "  he  cried,  clenching  his  hand  on 
his  sword.  "You  shall  answer  for  this,  sir!  How 
do  you  come  to  be  here,  at  this  time  of  night,  and 
why  ? " 

Vincent,  who  at  the  first  word  had  given  a  hurried 
glance  to  see  who  the  speaker  was,  then  returned  to  his 
task  with  the  indifference  of  one  absolutely  preoccupied, 
held  up  his  hand  passionately  against  more. 

'*  Don't  —  and  don't  preach,  for  God's  sake,  old  man  !  " 
he  cried  recklessly.  **  Come  and  help,  if  you  like.  Some 
brute  —  Oh,  curse  him  !  curse  him  !  " 

His  one  trembling  hand,  for  the  other  was  round  her, 
supporting  her,  was  busy  with  the  quaint,  jewelled  clasps 
of  the  scented  corselet,  which  was  crimsoning  deeper 
with  another  dye.  "  It's  too  late  for  preaching,"  he 
muttered,  half  to  himself,  —  "too  late  !  too  late  !  " 

The  words  seemed  to  stun  his  hearer  into  silence. 
He  stood  bewildered.     Too  late  for  what  t 

And  now,  roused  by  that  pistol-shot  also,  another  old 
man,  who  had  carefully  hidden  himself  away  from  the  pos- 
sibility of  being  found  by  Roshan  Khan,  on  the  rage  for 
an  impossible  interview ;  who  had  counted,  with  malicious 
cunning,  on  the  cooling  effect  of  a  useless  waiting  in  the 
garden  till  dawn  should  make  it  necessary  for  hot-blooded 
lovers  to  return  to  the  Fort,  stole  like  a  thief  to  the  bal- 
cony. What  could  have  happened  .'*  The  only  likely 
trouble  which  had  occurred  to  his  vast  experience  had 
been  the  possibility  of  Roshan  Khan  seeking  the  inter- 
view upstairs.  And  for  that  very  reason  had  not  he, 
Akbar  Khan,  felt  it  his  duty  to  sleep  outside  his  mis- 
tress's door.?  What  more  could  faithful  servitude  be 
expected  to  do .? 

But  this  !  What  was  this  ?  His  charge  had  stolen  a 
march  upon  him.  Old  as  he  was  in  the  care  of  frail 
womanhood,  he  had  been  imposed  upon !  Then,  as  he 
crept  round  a  pillar  craftily,  the  sight  of  Pidar  Narayan, 
in  his  priestly  robes,  made  the  old  sinner  throw  up  his 
hands  and  grovel  in  the  dust. 

"  This  slave  knew  nothing ! "  he  mumbled,  gasping. 


MARGHERITA  24 1 

"  This  was  unknown.  And  for  the  other,  I  told  him  it 
was  too  soon,  too  soon,  — far  too  soon." 

Too  soon,  and  too  late !  What  did  it  all  mean } 
Father  Ninian  stood  helpless,  paralyzed ;  but  Vincent 
caught  at  the  words. 

"The  other!"  he  echoed.  "You  black  devil!  who 
was  the  other.?  Who  was  that  man.?  Curse  him!" 
He  paused,  for  Laila  opened  her  eyes. 

"It  was  Roshan  Khan,"  she  said,  with  a  smile,  that 
half-amused,  half-mysterious  smile.  "  He  gave  me  the 
dress,  you  know,  and  I  think  he  wanted  me  —  to  marry 
him.  Hush!  what's  the  use  of  being  angry  —  now.?" 
She  checked  his  incredulous  outcry,  and  her  hand  hesi- 
tated up  to  his  trembling  fingers,  and  held  them  back 
from  their  task.  "Don't,"  she  went  on  ;  "I'd  rather  — 
you  didn't  waste  time.  I  want  you  to  look  at  me  — 
only  me  —  me,  myself.     Ah!  that's  nice!" 

There  was  an  instant's  silence ;  then  her  eyes  wan- 
dered to  his  cuff  as  it  rested  on  her  corselet,  and  she 
smiled  again.  "  We  match,  don't  we  .?  I'm  glad.  Be- 
sides, it  won't  stain  much.  I  expect  —  that's  why  sol- 
diers wear  red,  isn't  it .? " 

The  deadly  realism  roused  Vincent  to  a  sort  of  fury 
at  his  own  helplessness.  But  what  could  a  man  do, 
caught  in  a  second  by  Fate  to  be  chief  actor  in  a  scene 
like  this,  where  he  was  lost,  —  lost  utterly.?  And  those 
two  fools  looking  on  —  doing  nothing! 

"At  least,  in  common  charity,  you  might  help. 
You're  something  of  a  doctor ! "  he  cried  passionately. 
"  We  can  settle  scores  afterwards,  you  and  I,  can't  we .? 
But  now  you  might  help  her!' 

"  What  did  she  say  .?  "  asked  Father  Ninian,  tonelessly. 
He  had  caught  a  word  or  two,  and  their  triviality,  in  the 
face  of  what  had  happened  —  a  triviality  common  in 
those  who  have  been  struck  down  as  she  had  been,  al- 
most painlessly  —  had  but  increased  his  bewilderment. 
"  What  does  it  mean .?  How  do  you  come  here .?  I 
must  know,  first." 

The  girl  had  turned  her  face  quickly  to  the  new  voice  ; 


242  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

and,  after  vainly  trying  to  rise,  lay  back  breathlessly. 
"Tell  him,  Vincent ;  he's  Father  Laurence.    Remember 

—  he  must  know  —  and  —  and  I  —  can't  — " 

"  Then  here  it  is,  sir ! "  broke  in  Vincent,  brutally. 
"  If  you  will  wait  to  know,  when  every  moment  is  pre- 
cious. We  love  each  other  —  you've  done  it  in  your 
time,  I'm  told !  I've  been  coming  here,  night  after 
night,  to  see  her ;  she  wears  that  dress  to  please  me  — 
there  !     Now  you've  got  it !     And  to-night,  some  devil 

—  she  says  Roshan  Khan,  but  she's  dreaming;  what 
can  he  have  to  do  with  it.?  —  stood  there  and  fired  — 
at  me,  I  think;  but  she  flung  herself  —  Ah  !  Laila,  my 
darling,  why  did  you  .-*  Now,  will  that  satisfy  you  — 
you  —  you — " 

"Hush!"  came  Laila's  voice  —  "there  is  no  use  in 
being  angry.  Besides,  he  understands  ;  he  knows  what 
it  is  to  be  in  love  quite  well.  Don't  you,  guardian } 
You  loved  her,  didn't  you }     Margherita,  I  mean  —  " 

She  wandered  off  into  Italian  —  the  language  they 
always  spoke,  and  her  rich  voice  dulled,  died  away,  as 
the  faintness  returned. 

"  For  God's  sake,  sir,  bring  the  light,  if  you  won't  do 
anything  else!"  cried  Vincent,  wildly.  ''She  has 
fainted,  I  think  —  I  can't  see  —  it  is  so  dark.  For  God's 
sake,  sir,  the  light  at  least !  " 

The  light  at  least !  As  Father  Ninian  mechanically 
took  the  red  lamp  from  its  niche  he  felt  that  he  needed 
no  more  light  than  those  words,  "he  understands,"  had 
sent  into  his  very  soul.  Yes,  he  knew  what  love  was. 
But  he  knew  also  —  it  came  home  to  him  in  a  second  — 
that  his  love,  even  after  all  these  years,  differed  not 
at  all  from  this  girl's.  He  heard  it  in  her  voice  — that 
voice  so  strangely  like  that  other  voice  —  which  he  re- 
membered —  oh  !  so  well ! 

"Take  off  the  shade,"  said  Vincent,  "it  makes  every- 
thing so  —  so  red  —  you  —  you  can't  see  the  truth."  He 
shivered  as  he  spoke. 

But  that  first  look  at  the  girl  had  been  enough  for 
Pidar  Narayan.     It  had  roused  him,  his  apathy  was  gone. 


MARGHERITA  243 

He  thrust  the  lamp  into  Vincent's  trembling  hands 
without  a  word,  and  his  own  steady  ones  —  the  hands 
which  had  not  touched  their  kind,  except  to  heal  body  or 
soul,  since  they  had  said  farewell  to  a  woman  —  took 
up  the  task. 

So  for  a  few  minutes  there  was  silence,  but  for  the  old 
pantaloon's  ceaseless  mumblings  as  he  rocked  himself 
backwards  and  forwards.  He  had  meant  no  harm,  he 
protested  —  he  had  conducted  more  affairs  of  the  kind 
to  a  decent  ending  than  he  could  well  remember — no 
one  could  be  more  discreet  —  accidents  would  happen  — 

"She  is  shot  through  the  lungs,"  said  Father  Ninian, 
breaking  the  silence.  "There  is  very  little  to  be  done 
—  I  —  I  —  "  He  would  have  said  ''fear,''  but  for  Vin- 
cent's face  of  anguish.  What  right  had  he  to  feel  sor- 
row } —  he,  the  man  who  had  brought  this  about.  "  Still, 
I  will  try.  Akbar !  bring  the  candles  from  the  altar. 
Stay  !  she  had  better  go  there.  It  will  save  time.  You 
two  can  carry  her." 

But  Vincent  had  her  in  his  arms,  with  a  brief 
**  Where .? " 

"The  chapel  —  the  lights  are  lit.  Lay  her  on  the 
cushions  before  the  altar.  I  will  be  with  you  again 
directly." 

When  he  returned  from  his  room  with  lint  and  band- 
ages she  was  lying  there  as  he  had  directed,  her  long 
red  skirt  trailing  down  the  white  steps. 

"The  candles,  please, — the  smaller  ones,  Akbar, — 
and  place  them  at  her  head.  They  will  give  me  a  better 
light." 

Vincent  shivered  again  at  the  sight ;  she  looked  already 
dead,  with  those  tall  tapers  about  her.  Ah  !  what  did  it 
all  mean  }  Was  he  dreaming }  How  was  it  possible  } 
The  wild  improbability  of  it  stunned  him  ;  when  not 
three  hours  ago  he  had  had  a  sherry-and-bitters  before 
dinner  !  The  curious  irrelevance  of  his  thoughts  made 
him  feel  as  if  he  must  wake  soon.  Yet  there  she  lay. 
Laila,  whom  he  loved  ! 

"  Is  she  —  is  she  —  "  he  began. 


244  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

"  Not  dead,  if  you  mean  that,"  replied  Father  Ninian 
quietly.     *' But  she  will  not  live  an  hour." 

There  was  no  mincing  matters  between  these  two 
men — nothing  but  the  brutal  truth;  yet  this  time  it 
was  the  old  priest  who  held  up  his  hand  against  a  pas- 
sionate outcry.  "Don't  make  a  fuss.  Be  brave,  at 
least,  and  don't  disturb  her.  She  is  coming  to  herself 
again." 

To  herself  certainly.  To  the  old  half-amused,  half- 
mysterious  smile,  as  her  eyes  caught  the  tapers,  the 
lighted  altar  beyond,  her  lover  kneeling  at  her  side. 
"  It  is  the  wedding,  I  suppose,"  she  said  —  there  was  a 
catch  in  her  breath  now  —  "  but  why  have  they  put  the 
candles  like  a  bier }  To  save  time,  I  suppose.  But  it 
mixes  things  up;  and  — "  she  gave  a  little  impatient 
sigh  —  **  Oh  !  tell  him  to  be  quick,  Romeo,  for  —  for  we 
always  meant  to  be  married  in  the  end  —  didn't  we  }  " 

The  words  cut  Vincent  like  a  knife.  Yes  !  He  had 
meant  it.  Not  always.  Not  till,  even  to  one  with  his 
past,  the  perfection  of  this  idyll  in  the  garden  would 
have  suffered  without  that  promise  to  himself.  And 
now,  death  should  not  cheat  him,  should  not  leave  a 
stain,  a  regret,  on  the  one  perfect  romance  of  his  life. 
He  stooped  suddenly  and  kissed  her ;  kissed  her  with 
more  passion  than  he  had  ever  kissed  her  before. 

"  It  won't  be  long,  Juliet ;  he  is  just  going  to  begin," 
he  whispered,  then  rose  to  his  feet  unsteadily. 

This  at  least  he  could  do  for  himself.  And  for  her } 
A  sob,  almost  of  gratitude,  of  admiration,  came  to  his 
eyes  as  he  realized  that  it  would  never,  never  —  even  if 
she  had  lived  —  have  mattered  to  her  really.  But  it  had 
been  a  part  of  the  play  ;  part  of  her  as  Juliet.  So  it 
should  be.  His  wild  revolt  at  the  sequence  of  improba- 
bilities—  for  after  all  that  idyll  in  the  garden  had  been, 
bar  its  environments,  commonplace  enough  — which  had 
landed  him  in  —  in  an  Adelphi  drama  !  —  (he  could  not 
help  the  thought,  though  he  despised  it)  —  should  give 
way  to  this.  The  play  should  end  with  a  wedding. 
Juliet  should  have  the  ^statue  of  pure  gold'  in  the  eyes  of 


MARGHERITA  245 

the  world.  He  could  ensure  this  by  a  word ;  and  the 
word  should  be  spoken. 

He  touched  Father  Ninian  peremptorily  on  the 
shoulder,  as  he  bent,  busy  with  his  instruments. 

"  I  want  to  speak  to  you.  Hush  !  she  must  not  hear. 
Father,  you  say  she  is  dying.  Well,  I  claim  my  right. 
I  am  a  Catholic  —  I  have  sinned  —  we  will  say  nothing 
about  her  —  that  lies  between  us.  I  wish  to  marry  her 
while  I  can.  I  ask  it  as  my  right,  of  you,  a  priest.  Do 
you  understand  t     I  ask  you  to  marry  us." 

Ninian  Bruce  looked  for  an  instant  as  if  he  could 
have  killed  the  man  who  stood  before  him ;  then  he 
drew  himself  up,  priest  utterly. 

"  Have  you  the  right  to  claim  it  t " 

''  I  claim  it  as  a  right,"  replied  Vincent,  fiercely. 
*'  That  is  enough,  surely." 

"  It  is  not  enough.  I  will  ask  her."  And  Pidar 
Narayan  knelt  down  beside  the  girl.  **  My  daughter," 
he  began,  "Captain  Bering  tells  me  —  "  Then  he  gave 
way — '^  Cava  mia''  he  whispered,  laying  his  hand  on 
hers,  '*tell  me  —  I  have  never  been  unkind,  surely  — 
tell  me  —  your  old  guardian,  who  has  loved,  who  loves 
—  must  I  marry  you  to  —  to  him  ?  " 

Laila  looked  into  his  face  with  a  faintly-wondering 
reply.  "  Must !  "  she  echoed  dreamily.  **  It's  just  as  he 
likes,  of  course.  I  don't  mind.  I  only  want  him  — 
where  is  he  .»* " 

"  I'm  here,  sweetheart."  Vincent  knelt  down  again 
and  took  her  in  his  arms. 

The  faint  querulousness  left  her  voice.  "That's 
nice,"  she  murmured.  "  Tell  him  to  begin  quickly,  Vin- 
cent, for  I  don't  want  to  waste  time.  I  want  you  — 
you,  yourself,  and  me  —  me,  myself — nothing  else." 

Father  Ninian  gave  a  sort  of  cry,  and  turned  blindly 
to  the  altar.     If  this  was  not  Love,  what  was  .-* 

Then,  monotonously,  his  voice  began  the  marriage 
service. 

"Have  you  a  ring.^"  he  asked,  when  he  came  to 
stand  by  those  two,  the  girl  supported  in  Vincent's  arms. 


246  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

The  latter  shook  his  head.  "  Go  on  without  it,"  he  said 
sternly  ;  "  she  is  failing  fast." 

But  there  was  one  on  the  old  man's  finger ;  one  that 
had  never  left  it  since  it  had  been  put  there  by  a  saint 
in  Paradise.  He  took  it  off  now,  and  gave  it  to  the  man 
whom  at  that  moment  he  hated  and  despised  more  than 
any  man  on  earth. 

So,  swiftly,  the  prayers  went  on,  and  old  Akbar 
paused  in  his  rockings  to  say  "  Amen  "  with  the  others. 
He  had  learnt  thus  much  in  these  latter  days  of  grace. 

The  last  one  came  as  a  step  resounded  down  the  pas- 
sage ;  Lance  Carlyon's  step  as  he  sought  the  light  he 
had  seen  —  sought  his  Captain.  He  seemed  to  bring  a 
breath  of  fresh  air  into  the  passion-laden  atmosphere, 
a  solid  reality  into  the  shadows. 

*' Vincent !  "  he  cried,  as  he  caught  sight  of  the  scarlet 
and  gold.  **  Thank  God !  you're  here.  The  troopers 
have  seized  the  Fort  —  "  He  paused  suddenly,  horror- 
struck  at  what  had  caught  his  eye.     "  I  beg  your  pardon 

—  I  didn't  know  —  is  she  —  is  she  —  hurt.-*  —  " 
Vincent  stood  up  suddenly.     *'  Hush  !  that  has  noth- 
ing to  do  with  it.     Leave  that  to  me.     The   troopers 
have  risen  1     When  }  " 

Lance,  with  his  eyes  still  on  that  pitiful  sight,  shook 
his  head. 

"There  was  a  pistol-shot  —  you  must  have  heard  it !  " 

"  Heard  it !  "  echoed  Vincent,  wildly.  "  Yes  !  I  heard 
it.     Go  on  !     What  then  .?  " 

"I  don't  know  —  I  know  nothing  in  this  infernal 
nightmare  that's  got  hold  of  us  all ! "  cried  Lance.  "  I 
only  know  that  if  we  don't  get  to  the  gaol  before  they  do 

—  they've  gone  to  set  the  prisoners  free  —  there  will  be 
the  devil  of  a  row.     So  you  must  come  at  once,  Vincent 

—  you  must  come  at  once  !  " 

Captain  Bering  gave  an  irresolute  look  at  the  dying 
girl.  She  had  saved  his  life  —  he  loved  her  —  could  he 
leave  her  }     Was  anything  worth  that  sacrifice } 

"  You  must  go  !  "  said  a  stern  voice.  It  was  Father 
Ninian's,  who  had  taken  Vincent's  place  and  was  now 


MARGHERITA  247 

holding  Laila  in  his  arms.  ''You  must  go,  Captain 
Bering,  and  prevent  worse  from  befalling ;  if  you  can  — 
if  you  can  !  "     There  was  almost  a  triumph  in  his  voice. 

Lance  looked  from  one  to  the  other  in  sheer  despair. 
"Well!  if  you  won't  come,  I'm  off  —  oh!  come  along, 
Vincent,  and  don't  be  a  fool !  It  —  it  isn't  worth  it ;  it 
never  is ! " 

Vincent  Bering  stood  still  irresolute.  "You'll  stay, 
sir,"  he  said,  "and  —  and  look  after  —  " 

Father  Ninian  drew  the  unconscious  girl  closer  to 
him.     "I  will  look  after — Margheritay 

The  last  word  came  in  a  half  whisper  to  himself  and 
his  eyes  met  Vincent's  with  a  curious  dazed  defiance. 
The  latter  gave  the  defiance  back,  as  their  owner 
stooped  for  a  second  over  Laila's  indifferent  face,  and 
kissed  it. 

"  Good-by,  Juliet^  he  said ;  and  the  last  word  came 
also  in  a  half  whisper  to  himself. 

The  next  moment  he  was  following  Lance  down  the 
dim  passage,  full  of  a  vague  relief,  and  realizing  for  the 
first  time  that  the  mist,  which  for  the  last  half  hour  had 
dimmed  the  reality  of  all  things,  was  due,  not  to  any 
aberration  of  his  brain,  but  to  the  simple  fact  that  an 
electrical  dust-storm  was  in  full  blast. 

He  realized  it  with  relief.  That  was  at  least  real, 
tangible. 

Almost  too  much  so ;  and  as  the  hot  wind,  charged 
with  those  aspiring  atoms  of  earth,  met  him  fiercely,  he 
realized  also  that  the  storm  would  fight  against  him  in 
his  efforts  to  prevent  worse  from  happening.  If,  in- 
deed, anything  could  be  worse  than  what  had  happened  ; 
worse  than  Laila's  — 

He  broke  off  in  his  thought,  incredulous.  It  could 
not  be  true.  He  would  come  back  to  find  her  better  — 
well!  — 

But  that  other  dream  was  true.  His  men  had  risen. 
The  one  thing  necessary,  therefore,  was  to  get  to  the 
gaol  before  any  decided  action  took  place ;  and  this  he 
realised  still  more  clearly  from  Lance's  curt  explanation 


248  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

as  they  ran  down  the  river  steps.  Once  there,  the  sight 
of  the  canoe  he  had  left  suggested  the  feasibiUty  of 
getting  to  the  gaol  in  it.  His  personal  influence  might 
avail.  If  that  failed,  he  would  at  least  be  able  to  save 
time  by  choosing  a  suitable  place  for  the  raft  to  come 
ashore.  The  great  thing  was  to  be  on  the  spot,  to  be 
within  reach  of  action  at  once ;  to  wait  for  the  raft 
meant  needless  delay. 

So,  a  minute  after,  the  faint  splash  of  his  paddle  was 
lost  in  the  rising  hum  of  the  storm,  and  Lance  was  left 
looking  anxiously  for  sound  or  sight  of  the  raft,  which, 
if  all  had  gone  well,  should  by  now  have  started. 

But  neither  came,  so,  seeing  from  the  light  he  had 
snatched  up  as  he  passed  through  the  balcony  that  the 
air  was  growing  darker,  more  impenetrable  than  ever, 
he  shoved  off  his  strange  craft,  to  wait  further  out  in 
the  stream  where  there  was  less  chance  of  the  raft  pass- 
ing him  unseen,  unheard. 

For  this  reason  also,  he  paddled  up  along  the  wall  a 
bit  into  the  faint  glow  of  light  which  showed  still  from 
the  arches  of  the  chapel.  And  as  he  lay  in  it,  his  ears 
and  eyes  strained  for  the  least  sound,  he  could  hear  as  a 
kind  of  background  to  that  muffled  drumming  of  the 
storm,  the  sound  of  the  pilgrims  chanting  as  they  waited 
for  the  dawn.  The  dawn  which  would  bring  —  what.^ 
Who  could  tell } 

The  sound  of  other  prayers,  echoing  from  the  chapel, 
made  him  shake  his  head,  feeling  that  it  was  hopeless  to 
look  forward  —  or  backward  for  that  matter  !  Why  had 
Roshan  shot  the  girl  1  —  if  he  had  !  And  why  had  Pidar 
Narayan  called  her  Margherita,  and  Vincent  called  her 
Juliet } 

The  whole  thing  was  exactly  as  he  had  said  —  an  in- 
fernal nightmare! 

Then  a  faint  sound  in  front  of  him  made  his  strong 
arms  sweep  the  paddle  through  the  stream  as  he  shot 
into  the  darkness  in  search  of  the  raft;  in  search  of 
Erda. 

Not   that  she  needed  him,  really.     The  memory  of 


A   MONOPOLY  249 

her  in  that  red-and-gold  mess  jacket  above  her  wedding 
dress,  giving  orders  to  the  men  squarely,  came  back  to 
make  him  smile. 

God  bless  her!  She  could  do  well  enough  without 
him.  That  was  one  comfort.  And  Dillon  could  hold 
his  own  too,  without  much  help,  for  a  time  —  that  was 
another ;  for  what  with  this  and  that,  help  was  bound  to 
be  over-long  in  coming. 


CHAPTER   XXII 

A   MONOPOLY 

Lance  Carlyon  was  right  in  trusting  Dr.  Dillon's 
power  of  doing  without  help  until  Providence  chose  to 
send  some.  This  was  the  easier  task,  in  that  he  had 
made  up  his  mind  deliberately  beforehand  as  to  what 
his  best  course  of  action  would  be  should  an  alarm  of 
this  sort  occur.  Therefore  that  imperative  klmg-kling 
of  the  telegraph  bell  which  roused  him  in  a  second  from 
his  bed,  where,  ready  dressed  for  any  such  emergency, 
he  was  sleeping  the  sleep  of  the  just,  found  him  alert, 
prepared  for  anything  and  everything. 

So  it  has  come,  he  thought,  as  he  hastily  wired  back 
the  comprehensive  reply,  ^^  All  rights  await  you y  He 
felt  as  a  doctor  does  when  a  dangerous  symptom  which 
he  has  foreseen  as  a  possibility,  shows  itself.  He  had 
been  on  the  lookout  for  this  for  days,  but  as  the  dawn 
would  end  the  period  during  which  it  might  be  expected, 
he  had,  as  in  the  outbreak  of  the  cholera,  had  hopes  that 
danger  was  over.  His  last  thought,  as  he  slept,  had  been 
this ;  he  woke  to  find  that  the  complication  must  be 
faced.  Woke  with  a  strong  regret,  but  a  stronger  in- 
stinct of  fight.  So  he  slipped  his  feet  into  his  shoes, 
jammed  his  big  mushroom  hat  on  his  head  out  of  pure 
habit,  and  so,  armed  cap-a-pie,  with  a  brain  quick  to 
work,   and  a  body  ready  to   follow  and   obey,  he   ran 


250  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

across  the  sandy  road  to  the  Smiths'  bungalow,  realizing 
as  he  did  so  that  a  dust-storm  was  just  beginning.  That 
would  delay  both  attack  and  relief.  On  the  whole,  this 
would  be  an  advantage,  since,  once  things  were  secure, 
half  an  hour  or  so  would  make  no  difference  in  the  latter; 
whereas,  he  wanted  every  minute  he  could  get  now  for 
preparation. 

He  had  not  warned  Eugene  Smith  of  his  fears.  There 
was  never  any  use  alarming  people  by  mere  probabilities, 
unless  by  so  doing  you  could  forearm  them.  And  this 
was  not  the  case  here;  since  the  safest  —  in  fact  the 
only  —  place  of  refuge  for  Mrs.  Smith  and  the  child, 
should  trouble  arise,  was  the  semi-fortified  roof  above 
the  gate  of  the  gaol ;  and  that  he  knew  to  be  ready  for 
use.  He  had,  therefore,  only  to  wake  them,  as  quietly 
as  might  be,  so  as  not  to  give  the  alarm  to  the  servants. 
Fortune  favoured  him  in  this ;  for,  just  outside  the 
verandah,  he  ran  full  tilt  upon  Eugene  himself,  tall, 
gaunt,  in  his  sleeping-suit,  carrying  a  roll  of  bedding  on 
his  back  like  a  snail's  shell.  The  heat  of  the  evening  had 
enticed  him  to  sleep  outside,  as  he  preferred,  a  la  Robin- 
son Crusoe,  and  the  dust-storm  was  sending  him  in. 

**  Hello,  Dillon!"  he  cried,  "what's  up.?  —  nothing 
wrong  with  my  wife  or  the  child  —  I  hope  —  No!  —  " 
he  gave  a  sigh  of  relief,  "  then  it's  the  beastly  dust-storm 
disturbed  you,  I  suppose.  Isn't  it  sickening  to  think 
how  many  times  in  the  next  six  months  we  shall  have 
to  take  up  our  beds  and  walk." 

**H'm!  Hope  I  shall  have  the  chance,"  replied  the 
doctor,  dryly,  recovering  his  breath.  "  No,  it  isn't  the 
storm.  They're  going  to  try  a  row.  Smith.  Just  had 
a  wire  from  the  Fort.  There's  a  plot  on,  to  come  here 
and  set  the  prisoners  free,  and  that's  dangerous.  So, 
till  the  troops  come,  I  think  you'd  better  bring 
Mrs.  Smith  and  Gladys  to  the  gate  —  it's  the  safest 
place,  and  I've  got  everything  ready.  It  mayn't  be 
much ;  but  the  devils,  whoever  they  are,  might  turn 
and  rend  you  —  especially  if  they  fail  with  me." 

Eugene  Smith   had   dropped    his  snail-shell   and  sat 


A  MONOPOLY  251 

down  on  it,  aghast,  in  surprise;  but  he  was  up  again 
before  the  doctor  finished. 

"  By  Jove ! "  he  said  rapidly,  calmly  as  the  doctor 
himself.  "That's  a  taking  up  one's  bed  with  a  ven- 
geance. I'll  have  'em  both  ready  in  a  jiffy  —  anything 
else .? " 

"No.  I'll  rummage  round  till  you  return  —  one  for- 
gets things  to  the  last,  sometimes.  And  I  shall  want 
your  Remington  and  such  like  —  I  know  where  to 
find  'em." 

A  moment  after  he  was  striking  a  match  to  light  the 
tall  floor-lamp  in  Mrs.  Smith's  drawing-room.  She  had 
turned  it  out  herself  a  few  hours  before,  thinking,  as  she 
looked  round  the  room,  full  of  soft  rose-shaded  light, 
how  pretty,,  how  cosey  it  was.  It  had  the  same  air 
of  refined  security  now.  Everything,  down  to  a  copy  of 
the  last  *  Queen '  lying  on  an  inlaid  table  by  her  favour- 
ite chair,  was  so  exactly  what  one  would  have  expected 
to  find  in  her  room ;  the  room  of  a  delicate,  cultivated, 
civilized,  society  woman. 

And  now } 

Now  the  delicacy,  the  culture,  the  civilization,  the 
society,  and  the  security  belonging  to  them,  had  been 
invaded  in  an  instant.     By  what.? 

The  dust — you  could  almost  see  it  springing  into 
the  air  in  these  sandy  stretches  —  had  already  settled 
thick  over  the  dainty  furniture,  and  as  Dr.  Dillon,  stand- 
ing by  the  table  in  the  pink  glow  of  the  lamp,  asked  him- 
self the  question,  he  yielded  to  the  imperious  fascination 
which  a  smooth  sand-surface  has  for  humanity.  But  he 
did  not  write  his  name  upon  it ;  only  the  idle  answer  to 
the  question. 

"God  knows." 

The  writing  lay  upon  the  table  beside  the  latest  fash- 
ions, staring  up  into  the  pink  paper  shade,  after  George 
Dillon  had  passed  rapidly  to  Eugene's  office  to  choose 
this,  that,  and  the  other,  and  make  them  into  a  bundle 
with  a  table-cloth. 

When  he  returned  to  the  drawing-room,  Muriel  Smith 


252  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

was  standing  by  that  writing  in  the  sand  :  a  fragile  figure 
in  a  blue  dressing-gown,  all  frilled  and  embroidered  like 
the  pictures  in  the  paper.  She  looked  more  forlorn  than 
frightened  ;  forlorn  and  pathetic. 

"■  Is  it  warm  enough .? "  said  the  doctor,  as  he  entered. 
"Your  dress,  I  mean.  There's  a  storm  on,  and  it  gen- 
erally brings  rain." 

*'  It  is  flannel,"  she  answered,  and  he  nodded. 

There  was  no  excitement,  no  heroics.  Only  that. 
That,  and  the  writing  on  the  sand,  and  her  forlornness  — 
the  forlornness  of  a  delicate  Dresden  shepherdess  set  to 
drive  a  flock  of  real  sheep  to  the  shambles.  But  the 
needlessness,  the  pity  of  it,  made  Dr.  Dillon  set  his 
teeth. 

"■  Eugene  will  be  here  directly  with  Gladys,"  she  said. 
*'We  thought  it  best  not  to  wake  her,  and  he  said  we 
had  better  start  at  once ;  for  you  see  I  can't  walk  nearly 
so  fast  as  he  does." 

There  was  no  trace  of  fear  in  her  voice,  but  there  was 
none  of  resistance  either,  and  she  turned  at  the  door  to 
look  back  with  an  almost  reproachful  acquiescence. 

''Poor  room,"  she  said  softly,  ''it  seems  so  strange  — 
such  a  pity ;  but  I  suppose  it  can't  be  helped."  She 
turned  to  the  darkness  again  with  a  little  shiver,  and 
went  on,  "Vincent  sent  the  wire,  I  suppose." 

"  I  didn't  ask,"  replied  Dr.  Dillon  curtly ;  then, 
repenting  him,  added,  "  I  suppose  so.  He  will  be  here 
directly  I  expect.  And  —  and  we  will  all  take  care  of  you 
and  Gladys,  as  long  as  we  can.  You  know  that ;  and 
we  can't  do  more  —  can  we  }  " 

She  smiled  quite  tenderly.  "Of  course  you  will. 
And  I  am  really  not  a  bit  afraid  —  except  of  being  in 
the  way." 

She  seemed  to  accept  the  necessity  of  this  ;  perhaps 
rightly.  For  the  storm  itself  was  no  joke  in  these 
desert  stretches,  where  the  sand  rose  in  choking  clouds, 
yet  left  enough  to  make  each  step  a  toil.  Muriel 
stumbled  along  breathlessly,  but  so  slowly  that,  when 
her  husband  joined  them,  striding  along  with  Gladys, 


A  MONOPOLY  253 

still  sleeping,  wrapped  in  a  blanket  in  his  arms,  the 
doctor  bade  them  come  at  their  leisure  and  wait  until 
he  gave  the  signal  before  entering,  then  ran  on  swiftly 
to  the  gaol.  For  there  was  no  time  to  lose  ;  though,  on 
the  other  hand,  there  was  very  little  to  be  done.  The 
less  the  better,  if  his  plan  was  to  be  successful ;  since 
that  involved  the  utmost  quiet,  and  the  keeping  of  the 
prisoners  from  all  knowledge  of  what  was  going  on  as 
long  as  possible. 

As  he  faced  the  choking  darkness,  the  hot  blasts  of 
causeless  wind,  blowing  all  ways  at  once,  George  Dillon 
reckoned  up  his  chances  fairly.  The  storm  would  cer- 
tainly make  it  easier  to  keep  such  knowledge  from  those 
within,  and  make  it  more  difficult  for  those  without  to 
establish  communication  with  the  former.  So  far,  good. 
On  the  other  hand,  no  amount  of  the  light  at  his  com- 
mand would  enable  him  to  see,  even  from  his  coign  of 
vantage  on  the  gateway  roof,  what  was  going  on,  either 
outside  or  inside.  And  darkness  was  the  diggers'  best 
friend  ;  while  digging  was  the  recognized  enemy  of  mud 
walls.  Especially  of  those  inside  walls  which  divided 
the  gaol  into  sections.  Yet  the  best,  the  only  chance 
of  keeping  the  prisoners  quiet,  lay  in  preserving  their 
segregation  into  companies. 

For  the  gaol  was  of  the  cart-wheel  pattern.  That  is, 
a  huge  circle  of  outside  wall,  thick  as  an  earthwork, 
the  felloes  of  the  wheel,  as  it  were.  Then  a  small 
central  cylinder  of  brick,  like  a  lime  kiln,  the  nave  of 
the  wheel,  as  it  were.  Between  these  two  the  spokes. 
Spokes  of  twelve  feet  high  mud  wall,  dividing  the  whole 
into  seven  wedges  of  prison,  absolutely  distinct,  blank, 
aperture-less,  save  for  one  heavily  stanchioned  door  in 
the  apex  of  each  wedge,  leading  into  the  central  tower. 
Exit  or  entry  was  therefore  impossible  to  six  of  these 
wedges,  except  through  the  tower ;  that  is  the  citadel, 
the  key,  as  it  were,  of  the  gaol  proper. 

The  seventh  wedge,  however,  gave,  at  its  wider  end, 
on  the  entrance-gate,  which  was  a  square,  semi-fortified 
building,  pierced  by  a  tunnel,  gated  at  each  end,  and 


254  ^-^^  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

further  protected  by  an  outside  yard,  or  roofless  porch, 
also  gated.  The  inmost  of  these  three  gates  opened  on 
to  a  small  courtyard,  and  this  narrowed  again  into  an 
alley  which  gave  access  to  the  central  tower.  Briefly 
then  the  whole  gaol  consisted  of  six  wedges  opening,  by 
a  door  in  their  narrow  end,  into  the  central  cylinder ; 
and  a  seventh  wedge  split  in  two  by  an  alley  leading 
between  high  mud  walls  from  the  gateway  to  that 
central  tower ;  the  key  to  the  position. 

In  the  two  halves  of  the  split  wedge  lay  the  warders' 
barracks,  the  solitary  cells,  the  cook  rooms,  the  hospi- 
tal ;  and  the  entry  to  these  was  by  a  door  on  either  side 
of  the  little  courtyard,  just  beyond  the  inner  gate. 
From  the  corner  of  this,  also,  rose  the  outside  stair 
leading  to  the  roof  of  the  square,  brick  gateway. 

Thus  the  fifteen  hundred  prisoners  were  broken  up 
into  companies  of  about  two  hundred  each,  and  were  abso- 
lutely without  possibility  of  communication  so  long  as 
the  central  tower  was  in  the  hands  of  authority.  Unless 
there  was  time  to  undermine  the  mud  walls,  and  tools, 
also,  wherewith  to  work.  Of  these,  however,  there 
were  none  in  the  gaol.  Nothing,  even,  that  could  be 
used  to  take  their  place,  except  in  that  seventh  section 
which  held  the  executive  of  the  gaol ;  and  there  Dr. 
Dillon  meant  to  leave  no  hands  to  use  them,  if  he  could 
compass  it. 

As  he  pulled  up  to  regain  his  breath  before  walking 
up  to  the  gate  and  giving  the  countersign,  the  whole 
place  lay  quiet  and  dark.  So  far,  good.  There  was  the 
risk,  however,  of  the  plot  being  known,  and  of  the  sentry 
refusing  him  entrance.  It  was  not,  however,  and  the 
next  moment,  calmly  as  if  he  was  merely  on  one  of  his 
not  infrequent  rounds  of  unexpected  night  inspections, 
Dr.  Dillon  passed  from  the  outer  porch  to  the  tunnel, 
and  told  the  sentry  at  the  inner  gate  to  light  the  lamp 
in  the  little  office  room  to  one  side. 

"  Call  the  superintendent,"  he  said  to  the  first  man, 
"  and  you  can  tell  him  I  am  going  to  inspect  the  solitary 
cells." 


A  MONOPOLY  255 

He  added  this  because  he  knew  it  would  give  time, 
since  the  superintendent  would  be  sure  to  give  a  private 
look  round,  first,  to  see  all  was  in  order,  and  remove 
possible  traces  of  tobacco  or  opium,  —  those  luxuries 
out  of  which  so  much  money  can  be  made  by  gaol 
officials. 

No  sooner,  however,  had  the  first  sentry  gone  through 
the  door  to  the  left  section,  than  he  sent  the  second  one 
on  a  similar  message  to  the  right,  where  the  hospital  lay. 
Then,  the  coast  being  clear,  he  rapidly  unlocked  the 
private  safe  in  the  office  which  held  his  set  of  keys  in 
case  of  accidents,  and  locked  both  the  right  and  left 
doors.  Secure  for  a  moment,  therefore,  from  interrup- 
tion, he  ran  outside,  saw  that  the  tool  rooms,  etc.,  were 
closed,  gave  the  signal  to  Eugene  Smith,  hurried  the 
refugees  up  the  stairs ;  and  then,  after  unlocking  the  two 
doors  again  on  his  way  back  to  the  office,  sat  down  in 
his  usual  chair  and  began  to  look  over  a  register. 

He  was  engaged  in  this  calm  occupation  when,  a 
minute  or  two  after,  the  native  superintendent  —  a  big, 
dignified  person,  in  a  blatant  undress  due  largely  to  his 
bulk  —  arrived  breathless. 

^^  Darogah-jee  f'  began  Dr.  Dillon,  instantly,  and  the 
mere  tone  of  the  title  made  the  man  quiver,  *'  I've  had 
constantly  to  complain  of  the  tobacco  and  opium  smug- 
gling that  is  going  on  among  the  warders,  and  I  mean  to 
stop  it.  I've  had  information  to-night  which  will  clinch 
the  business.  So  take  the  night  guard,  rouse  every 
warder,  bring  everyone  here,  even  those  on  guard  in 
the  sections  —  the  hospital  orderlies  —  everyone,  in  fact, 
who  is  free  to  go  out  of  the  gaol.  They  are  to  come  at 
once.  No  time  allowed  for  arrangements.  If  they  are 
not  all  here  in  five  minutes  I  shall  think  you  are  in 
league  with  the  smugglers." 

The  darogah's  fat  flesh  shook,  yet  he  winked  as  he 
went  off.  If  the  ^oztox-sahib  expected  to  find  any- 
thing in  this  fashion  except,  maybe,  a  smell  of  the  for- 
bidden drugs,  he  was  mistaken.  On  such  a  night,  too, 
when  the  dust  was  in  everyone's  eyes.     Well !  it  might 


25 6  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

have  been  worse;  for,  though  he  knew  nothing  defi- 
nitely of  any  plot,  he  could  not  fail  to  know  that  there 
was  more  to  excite  men  in  the  gaol,  that  night,  than 
tobacco  or  opium  !  So  he  went  about  his  summons  with 
a  sigh  of  relief,  and  before  the  five  minutes  were  over 
had  his  posse  of  minor  officials  together,  including  a  file 
of  unfettered  prisoners,  with  good  conduct  badges,  who 
were  used  as  gang  leaders.  He  himself  finally  coming 
down  the  alley,  with  a  stupendous  bunch  of  keys,  followed 
by  the  little  group  of  night  warders  he  had  collected 
from  the  other  sections. 

"  All  here  ? "  asked  Dr.  Dillon,  lighting  a  cigar.  "  The 
register,  please,  darogah.  They  will  answer  to  their 
names,  pass  out  through  the  wicket  into  the  porch,  and 
stay  there  until  I've  tallied  the  lot.  I'm  going  to  have 
\i pakka'^  this  time." 

Some  of  the  men  grinned,  some  looked  uneasy,  and 
some  few  frowned  ;  but  all  obeyed,  though  they  cuddled 
themselves  into  their  blankets  as  they  slipped  through 
the  wicket,  and  faced  the  whirling,  swirling  storm  in 
the  open  porch,  the  doors  of  which  were  barred,  not 
solid. 

"  Kishen  Rao  .? "  came  Dr.  Dillon's  voice,  after  a  long 
series  of  names,  followed  by  brief  '' presents  .^"  and  swift 
exits.  There  was  no  answer.  He  turned  to  the  darogah 
for  explanation. 

"Absent !  "  explained  the  latter,  timorously. 

A  little  more  decision  might  have  saved  him  the  quick 
question,  "  With  or  without  leave  t  " 

^^ Huzoor r'  palpitated  the  fat  man,  "he  went  out 
to  bathe  in  the  Holy  Pool  by  permission  this  morning. 
He  is  of  the  utmost  sobriety.  A  Brahmin,  promoted 
by  your  Honour  to,  as  your  Honour  knows,  general  head 
ward-keeper.     He  is  not  to  be  suspected." 

"  Leave  till  5  p.m.,"  commented  the  doctor,  looking 
over  the  register.  "Mark  him  down  absent  without 
leave.     Go  on." 

So,  rapidly,  the  last  man  ducked  under  the  wicket. 

1  Certain. 


A  MONOPOLY  257 

"  Is  that  the  lot  ?  " 

"Everyone,  Protector  of  the  Poor,"  protested  the 
burly  official,  with  smiles.  "The  prison  is  empty  of 
the  unfettered." 

"  Then  let  it  remain  so  for  the  present,"  said  Dr.  Dil- 
lon, coolly,  as  he  stepped  forward,  closed  the  wicket,  slid 
the  bolt  to  its  place,  and  turned  on  the  darogahy  all  in 
one  swift  sequence. 

"  Now,  then  !  "  he  went  on  sharply,  "  you  and  I  have 
to  settle  a  bit  of  business.  Your  keys  —  "  he  took  out 
a  revolver,  and  laid  it  on  the  table  beside  him  —  "  every 
key  you  have  ;  duplicates,  triplicates,  everything !  I'm 
going  to  keep  this  gaol  myself  for  a  bit.  Do  you  under- 
stand .? " 

''^  Huzoor !''  bleated  the  man,  helplessly,  putting  his 
big  bunch  on  the  table. 

Dr.  Dillon  smiled  sarcastically.  "  Won't  do,  my  friend. 
I  want  the  lot  by  the  list.     Where's  the  register } " 

When  it  came  he  ticked  them  off  rapidly  by  it. 
"  Sections  B  and  C,  warder's  duplicate  ;  where's  that .'' " 
he  asked. 

The  official  grew  green.  "  Kishen  Rao  —  "  he  began 
—  "  but  he  is  of  the  utmost  —  " 

Dr.  Dillon  turned  on  him  like  lightning.  "  You're  a 
damned  scoundrel,  sir  !  What  else  is  missing  } "  He 
ran  over  the  rest  swiftly,  then  looked  up  suddenly  with 
a  scowl  that  made  the  man  literally  collapse.  "  So 
that's  it,  is  it  I  Duplicate  of  B  and  C  sections  missing, 
and  duplicate  of  the  alley  doors.  A  pretty  little  game  !" 
he  laughed  sardonically. 

"Kishen  Rao — "  gurgled  the  darogah — "by  your 
Honour's  promotion  —  of  the  utmost  —  " 

"  But  it  won't  play,  my  friend  ;  it  won't  play  !  "  went 
on  the  doctor,  with  a  curious  elation.  "  I  hold  the  thir- 
teenth trump,  now.  You  go  in  there,"  —  he  pointed 
to  an  inner  store-room  behind  the  slip  of  an  office ;  a 
windowless  place,  pitch  dark,  where  the  clothes  in  which 
the  prisoners  arrived  awaited  their  release  in  piles  — 
"  and  thank  your  stars  you're  in  such  good  quarters." 


258  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

All  but  that  brief  order,  "You  go  in  there,"  was  spoken 
in  English,  as  a  sort  of  outlet  for  the  intense  satisfac- 
tion which  was  filling  him  at  his  own  success, — so  far. 

The  next  minute  he  had  turned  the  key  on  the  darogah, 
and  was  up  the  stairs  calling  Eugene  Smith  in  a  low 
voice  to  come  down  and  help  to  bolt  and  bar ;  but  to 
come  as  quietly  as  he  could. 

"  I've  got  rid  of  the  lot,"  he  said  joyously,  after  he 
had  explained  the  position  in  a  few  rapid  words ;  "there 
isn't  a  soul  in  this  section  except  the  solitary  cellers  — 
who,  of  course,  are  ironed  —  a  few  sick  people,  and  the 
assistant  surgeon ;  but  baboo-jee  is  an  agnostic,  and  is  so 
confoundedly  afraid  of  the  possibility  of  a  future  life  that 
he  may  be  trusted  to  go  into  green  collapse  if  he  hears 
a  shot  fired." 

So,  rapidly,  the  two  men  set  to  work,  undisturbed  by 
more  than  a  protesting  ^^ Huzoor^  what  shall  we  do.!*" 
from  the  posse  outside  the  first  gate,  and  a  low  knocking 
at  the  wicket. 

There  were  double  doors  here,  however,  and  of  the 
sort  which  it  would  need  time  to  negotiate,  without 
powder. 

"They  will  hold  out  for  an  hour,  at  least,"  said  the 
doctor ;  "  then  there  will  be  the  inner  one,  and  after 
that  the  alley  door  —  unless  —  "  he  remembered  Kishen 
Rao,  and  frowned.  That  was  the  only  weak  spot  in  his 
armour.  "We  can  count  on  an  hour  and  a  half,  at  least," 
he  continued,  carefully  allowing  for  the  worst ;  "  longer, 
perhaps.  Now  then.  Smith,  for  the  toughest  job!  I've 
got  a  couple  of  crowbars  here.  Those  first  six  steps  — 
eight  if  we  can  —  of  the  stairs  must  come  down.  There 
aren't  enough  of  us  to  hold  them." 

So,  for  fully  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  no  sound  was  heard 
above  the  curious  vibration  of  the  storm  except  the 
grinding  and  crushing  of  the  bricks  as  they  were  rapidly 
eased  out,  one  by  one,  from  the  mud  mortar.  The  light 
of  one  of  the  office  lamps,  set  on  the  ground,  showed  by 
that  time  a  sheer  drop  of  eight  or  ten  feet,  and  Eugene 
Smith,  working  above,  jammed  his  crowbar  into  a  crevice 


THE  SEARCH-LIGHT  259 

of  the  wall  against  which  the  steps  clung  like  a  swallow's 
nest,  and  gave  Dr.  Dillon,  who  had  been  working  below, 
a  rope  and  a  hand  up. 

The  latter  set  down  the  keys  and  the  lamp  he  had 
brought  up  with  him,  and  deliberately  dusted  the  knees 
of  his  trousers. 

"There,  that's  done,"  he  said.    *' Couldn't  be  better." 

"Yes,  it  seems  pretty  safe,"  assented  Eugene  Smith, 
a  trifle  dubiously. 

"  Safe ! "  echoed  the  doctor,  enthusiastically,  "  I  haven't 
felt  so  safe  for  the  last  fortnight.     Hullo!  what's  that.!*" 

That  was  a  sudden  bugle-call.  The  doctor's  face  fell. 
"What,  already!  I  didn't  expect  relief  so  soon.  How- 
ever, it  can't  be  helped.  I'll  just  go  up  and  tell  Dering 
what  I've  done,  so  that  he  may  be  prepared  for  the 
locked  out  ones  !  " 

He  took  the  light  in  his  hand  and  crossed  to  the 
outer  parapet. 

"  Hello,  Dering  !  "  he  began,  peering  down.  Then  a 
couple  of  shots  whizzed  past  his  head  and  he  ducked. 
At  the  same  moment,  as  if  roused  by  the  concussion, 
the  first  crackhng  thunderclap  of  the  dust-storm,  sound- 
ing muffled  through  the  thick  air,  followed  like  a  roll-call, 
and  reverberated  dully,  sluggishly,  through  the  black 
darkness. 

When  it  passed.  Dr.  Dillon's  voice  rose  quietly. 

"  There  will  be  no  relief.  Smith ;  those  are  the  troopers, 
and  they're  against  us.  So  now  —  we've  got  it  to  our- 
selves, Smith,  for  some  time." 

There  was  a  certain  satisfaction  at  the  monopoly  in 
his  voice. 

CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE    SEARCH-LIGHT 

The  sound  of  those  two  shots  greeted  Vincent  Dering 
as,  after  infinite  difficulty,  owing  to  the  darkness,  the  fit- 
ful gusts  of  wind,  and  the  sand-banks,  he  drew  up  the 


26o  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

canoe  against  what  he  knew  must  be  the  high  bank 
below  the  off-take  of  the  canal. 

It  had  only  been  by  trusting  the  stream  to  guide  him, 
and  refraining  at  times  from  the  use  of  his  paddle,  that 
he  had  managed  to  steer  his  way  at  all. 

So  he  knew  he  was  late ;  felt,  indeed,  that  he  must  be 
too  late  to  use  his  influence  with  the  men,  and  yet, 
despite  this  knowledge,  a  keen  disappointment  filled 
him  when  those  shots  proved  him  to  be  so ;  since  by 
long  experience  he  knew  that  once  open  resistance 
began,    there   could    be    no    more   question    of  words. 

What  then,  was  there  for  him  to  do.-* 

If  he,  in  his  light  canoe,  helped,  wherever  possible, 
by  every  atom  of  strength  his  arms  possessed,  had  taken 
so  long  to  come  down  that  mile  or  two  of  stream, 
the  raft  could  not  possibly  arrive  for  another  half 
hour. 

He  could  not  sit  still  for  half  an  hour ;  he  felt,  indeed, 
as  if  he  could  not  sit  still  for  half  a  minute.  A  passion 
to  act,  to  sweep  away  the  past,  to  forget,  was  upon  him. 
He  had  had  time  during  his  strange  journey  —  so  often 
idle  perforce  —  to  realize  his  position ;  time  to  piece  the 
still  stranger  events  preceding  his  journey  into  a  reason- 
able sequence ;  so  that  he  had,  by  now,  arrived  at  a 
fairly  accurate  guess  as  to  the  cause  of  much,  that, 
when  it  happened,  had  seemed  causeless. 

For  instance,  Laila's  dress,  ''given  her  by  someone !' 
That,  joined  to  the  knowledge  that  she  was  connected 
with  the  late  Nawab's  family,  of  which  Roshan  Khan 
might  with  justice  claim  the  headship,  had  brought  the 
latter's  action  within  the  bounds  of  credibility.  Jealousy  ! 
revenge  !  these  were  potent  causes.  Laila,  then,  must 
have  been  playing  with  Roshan's  pretensions.  Playing 
like  a  child  with  a  toy  ;  playing,  rather,  like  a  woman  who 
hesitates  at  nothing  for  the  sake  of  the  man  she  loves. 
And  she  had  hesitated  at  nothing ;  not  even  at  this,  to 
give  him  pleasure,  to  make  things  match  with  his  pas- 
sion !  The  thought,  the  remembrance,  made  him  for  a 
moment   feel  inclined   to   fling  up  his  hands,  and   let 


THE  SEARCH-LIGHT  26 1 

the  canoe  take  him  where  it  chose  ;  take  him  down 
stream  utterly.  Then  a  half  choking,  yet  wholly 
strenuous  desire  to  escape  from  the  whole  story,  a 
wild  instinctive  effort  for  a  more  wholesome  atmosphere, 
like  that  of  a  drowning  man  for  a  breath  of  fresh  air, 
had  sent  the  canoe  bounding  on  his  way ;  his  way  and  none 
other's,  in  swift  obedience.  With  a  rush,  he  had  grasped 
that  there  was  more  in  life  —  that  he  had  allowed  himself 
to  be  a  slave  !  But  that  was  past, —  he  would  shake  him- 
self together — he  would  forget  the  thraldom  of  sex — and 
he  would  forget  the  past. 

Yet,  as  he  cast  about  in  his  mind  for  the  best  method 
of  applying  the  half  hour's  leisure,  the  remembrance  of 
a  woman  came  to  him,  as  if  to  mock  at  his  resolution. 
Muriel,  and  dear  little  Gladys  who  called  him  *'  Derin' 
darling  "  ;  where  were  they  }  His  eyes  grew  soft  in  the 
remembrance,  stern  at  the  probability  of  their  being  in 
danger.  Why  had  he  not  thought  of  it  before  t  How 
could  he  ever  have  paused,  wondering  what  to  do .'' 

He  set  the  red  light,  which  he  had  taken  from  the 
fateful  balcony,  carefully  in  the  canoe  —  though,  even 
should  some  gust  of  the  rising  wind  not  blow  the  light 
out,  it  could  scarcely  be  of  any  use  in  that  outer  dark- 
ness—  as  a  signal  to  the  raft  should  it,  by  an  off  chance, 
drift  past  in  his  absence,  then  struck  across  the  sand  in 
the  direction  in  which  he  knew  the  Smiths'  bungalow 
must  lie ;  that  was,  a  little  to  the  rear  of  the  gaol. 

The  storm,  as  he  faced  it,  was  so  fierce  that  the  doubt 
rose  inevitably  if  an  unwieldy  raft  could  make  way 
against  it.  If  so,  then  there  would  be  no  help.  The 
only  thing  would  be  to  defend  himself  and  others  until 
the  end  came ;  the  end  which  would  at  least  end  the 
past. 

He  had  almost  to  feel  his  way,  the  darkness  was  so 
intense.  It  was  a  relief  to  stumble  against  something 
which  he  knew  must  be  the  low  mud  fence  of  Muriel's 
garden ;  that  garden  in  which  she  tried  to  defy  Provi- 
dence, and  rear  English  flowers.  He  knew  his  feet 
must  be  crushing  her  treasures  as  he  passed  on  towards 


262  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

a  faint  glow,  a  red  glow.  But  everything  that  was  not 
the  blackness  of  outer  darkness  to-night  seemed  red  — 
blood  red. 

A  minute  after,  with  a  vast  relief  at  the  silence,  the 
solitude,  he  was  in  Muriel's  pretty  drawing-room.  The 
pink-shaded  lamp  was  still  alight,  showing  red  through 
the  fog  of  dust.  He  passed  to  it  instinctively,  and  as 
he  did  so,  noticed  the  writing  on  the  table.  But  many 
an  earth-atom  had  fallen  on  that  confession  of  ignorance 
since  George  Dillon  had  made  it  idly,  and  so,  as  Vin- 
cent Bering  bent  quickly  to  see  if  by  chance  it  was 
some  message  left  for  those  who  might  come  after,  he 
also  had  to  frown  and  say,  **  God  knows  ! " 

Was  it  possible  that  Eugene  and  his  wife  were  still 
asleep }  The  doors  stood  open,  but  that  was  to  be 
expected  at  that  season  of  the  year,  unless  someone  had 
been  awake  to  close  them  against  the  storm.  He  must 
make  sure,  however. 

But  there  was  no  one  to  be  found  in  any  of  the  rooms. 
It  occurred  to  him,  then,  that  they  must  have  taken 
refuge  in  the  gaol,  and  he  told  himself  he  was  a  fool  not 
to  have  thought  of  that  before.  Dillon  would,  of  course, 
have  seen  to  that.  He,  Vincent,  might  have  remem- 
bered so  much,  at  least ;  might  have  remembered  that 
he  himself  was  not  the  only  slave.  Then  he  gave 
an  odd,  bitter  little  laugh.  Was  it  never  possible  to 
get  beyond  a  woman's  apron-strings  t 

And  here  he  was  wasting  time  over  the  question, 
when  he  ought  to  be  doing  something  better. 

But  what? 

Go  back  and  wait  for  the  raft,  or  on  to  the  gaol  ? 
There  was  a  big  tamarisk  tree  at  the  end  of  the  garden. 
Only  two  days  before  he  had  pointed  it  out  to  Muriel 
and  said  that  an  active  man  accustomed  to  trapeze  work 
might  swing  himself  from  it  astride  the  high  mud  wall 
of  the  gaol,  and  so  gain  the  roof  of  the  gate.  Dillon  had 
denied  it ;  and  she  had  said,  laughingly,  that  no  one 
ever  tried  to  break  into  a  gaol,  only  out  of  one. 

Curious  ;  still,  if  it  had  only  been  light,  it  would  have 


THE  SEARCH-LIGHT  263 

been  worth  the  risking.  But  it  was  impossible  now  in 
the  dark. 

So,  suddenly,  a  remembrance  came  to  him.  The 
search-light ! 

Was  it  only  last  night  he  had  been  dining  here,  in 
this  house,  after  bringing  Muriel  home  from  the  Mission, 
where  they  had  seen  that  huge  ray  piercing  the  shadows  } 
Was  it  only  yesterday  that  he  had  listened  to  Eugene's 
lamentations  over  his  unused  electricity,  which  was 
sure,  he  said,  to  vanish  into  space  from  his  rude  con- 
trivances. Was  it  only  yesterday  that,  in  obedience  to 
that  pathetic  look  of  martyrdom  on  Muriel's  face,  which 
still  seemed  —  to  one  part  of  Vincent's  nature  —  to  call 
for  instant  sympathy,  he  had,  to  appease  the  honest 
inventor,  shown  an  interest  in  search-lights  which  was 
purely  fictitious,  and  learned  a  variety  of  facts  about 
buttons  and  stop-cocks  ?  And  had  all  this  happened 
yesterday  on  purpose  that  to-day,  when  he  was  in  need 
of  light  — 

He  was  up  on  the  roof  with  the  thought.  If  only 
the  blessed  thing  had  go  enough  for  that !  As  he  picked 
his  way  rapidly  through  the  litter,  three  or  four  cigar- 
ends,  a  half-finished  whiskey-and-soda,  seen  by  the  flash 
of  the  hurricane  lantern  he  had  sought  out  and  lit,  told 
him  that  Eugene  must  have  been  at  work  over  his  new 
toy  till  late.  So  much  the  better  for  his  chance  — •  for 
everybody's  chance  ;  since  a  signal  like  that  might  make 
all  the  difference  to  the  raft ;  all  the  difference  to  Dillon 
in  the  gaol  — 

George  Dillon  was,  indeed,  beginning  to  realize  this 
himself.  His  almost  triumphant  mood  had  passed  ;  it 
had  come  home  to  him  that  the  unexpected  revelation 
of  the  troopers'  complicity  in  the  plot,  whatever  it  was, 
had  changed  the  whole  aspect  of  affairs.  Now,  there 
was  no  question  of  keeping  the  gaol  quiet  until  help 
should  arrive.  He  was  face  to  face,  now,  with  the  fact 
that  he  must  not  rely  on  any  aid  at  all.  What  had 
really  happened,  he  could  not  guess.     For  all  he  knew, 


264  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

the  troopers  and  pioneers  might  have  risen  and  killed 
their  officers,  killed  everybody  who  would  be  likely  to 
help.  His  aim,  now,  was  to  sell  his  life,  and  —  and  hers 
—  as  dearly  as  he  could  ;  but  in  the  dead  darkness,  like 
a  rat  in  a  hole,  what  could  be  done?  Except  wait  — 
wait  for  the  walls  to  be  dug  through,  the  gates  to  be 
mined,  that  poor  eight  or  ten  feet  drop  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs  scaled.  Then  a  rush,  still  in  the  dark,  and  —  the 
greatest  Darkness  of  all ! 

Not  even  the  chance  of  a  shot ;  and  he  had  plenty  of 
ammunition.  It  would  at  least  have  passed  the  time 
to  take  pot-shots  at  the  devils ;  and  though  these  would 
have  brought  retaliation,  there  would  have  been  no  need 
for  exposure.  The  parapet  walls  were  high  enough,  and 
properly  loopholed. 

So,  for  a  few  minutes,  he  sat  almost  sullenly  beside 
those,  for  whom  alone  he  now  felt  responsible,  in  the  little 
turret,  which,  as  is  always  the  case  in  India,  rose  at  one 
corner  of  the  flat  roof  giving  fair  shelter  for  the  time. 
In  his  first  hurried  recognition,  which  had  come  with  the 
shots,  that  not  help  but  attack  lay  outside,  he  had  blown 
out  his  light,  fearing  lest  Eugene  Smith  might  also  be 
exposed  to  similar  attentions ;  so  it  was  pitch  dark. 
And  the  now  almost  constant  reverberations,  which 
seemed  to  send  the  sand-laden  air  in  pulse-beats  on  your 
face,  deadened  all  other  sounds  into  vague  confusion. 
But  he  knew  that  the  warders  within  the  porch,  the 
troopers  without,  were  trying  to  force  the  barred  gate. 
That  would  not  take  long ;  though  the  two  doors  block- 
ing the  ends  of  the  tunnel  would  be  a  tougher  job. 

And  he  heard,  closer  at  hand,  a  sleepy  whimper  from 
the  child,  a  low  comforting  from  a  mother's  voice. 

The  sound  made  him  set  his  teeth. 

God  !  if  there  was  only  light  to  kill  withal. 

And  then,  in  a  second,  as  if  by  a  miracle,  it  came.  A 
great  flood  of  shining  light,  contemptuous,  at  that  short 
distance,  even  of  that  outer  darkness.  For  it  was 
electricity  against  electricity ;  a  house  divided  against 
itself. 


THE  SEARCH-LIGHT  265 

The  first  thing  he  saw  by  it  was  that  fragile  figure  in 
its  dainty  blue  frills,  a  child's  golden  head ;  and  so, 
naturally,  the  next  instant  found  his  hand  on  a  rifle. 

"  The  search-light !  by  all  that's  lucky  !  Well !  every- 
one has  not  been  killed,  anyhow,"  cried  Eugene  Smith. 

*' Killed,"  echoed  Dr.  Dillon,  savagely.  "No  one  has 
been  killed  yet,  but  it  won't  be  long  before  they  are." 

It  was  not ;  for  a  trooper  engaged  in  staring  stupidly 
at  the  velvety  black  circle  out  of  which  the  intruding 
light  seemed  to  spring,  suddenly  threw  up  his  hands, 
swirled  round,  and  fell  face  upwards  in  a  crumpled 
heap. 

There  was  an  instant's  scare  in  the  crowd,  in  that 
hundred  and  fifty  or  more  of  troopers  and  conspirators, 
thrown  into  black  and  white  relief,  like  a  shadow  panto- 
mime, about  .the  outer  gate.  Then  the  startled  murmurs 
of  "the  light  —  the  Dee-puk-rdg''  which  were  passing 
from  lip  to  lip,  changed  into  a  yell. 

The  fight  had  begun  in  earnest. 

"Shoot  straight,"  remarked  Dr.  Dillon,  a  few  minutes 
after,  "  we  shan't  have  such  a  good  chance  long.  The 
gate  is  almost  gone.  Then  most  of  the  game  will  be 
out  of  range — too  close  to  the  wall.  And  once  they 
get  into  the  tunnel  we  shall  have  to  sound  cease  firing 
until  they  come  out  on  the  other  side;  but  then  we 
ought  to  do  decent  damage,  if  the  prisoners  don't  get  at 
us  first."  He  paused,  and  shot  on  steadily  till,  with  a 
hoarse  shout,  the  attackers  surged  inwards.  Then  he 
laid  his  rifle  aside,  remarking  that  it  would  be  as  well 
to  keep  an  eye  gaolwards,  in  case  of  complications. 

So  far  as  could  be  seen  in  that  curious  chequering  of 
dense  darkness  and  sharp  glittering  light ;  light  which 
was  palpably  an  intruder,  which  seemed  absolutely 
apart  from  the  things  it  showed  —  even  from  the 
dust-atoms  —  there  was  none  as  yet.  At  least  the 
uppermost  portion  of  that  vast  wheel  of  wall  stood 
out,  perfect,  unbroken.  The  roof  of  the  Smiths* 
bungalow,  where  the  light  stood,  being,  however,  but 
little  higher  than  these  walls,  much  of  what  lay  below 


266  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

in  the  sections  themselves  was  necessarily  hidden  in 
shadow ;  especially  on  the  side  nearest  the  light.  But 
the  narrow  alley  leading  up  to  the  central  tower, 
being  in  straight  line  with  the  ray,  showed  clear  as  day- 
light, save  just  under  the  citadel  itself.  So  did  most  of 
the  little  courtyard,  with  its  doors  opening  to  the  right 
and  left.  George  Dillon  gave  a  sigh  of  satisfaction  at  the 
sight,  since,  whether  the  foe  elected  —  when  once  inside 
the  gates  —  to  rush  the  roof,  or  press  on  to  liberate  the 
prisoners  by  those  six  doors  in  the  round  tower,  there 
would  be  fair  chance  of  a  good  bag,  for  a  straight  shot ! 

Or,  even  if  the  convalescents  in  hospital  were  to  set 
free  the  solitary-cell  convicts  —  a  contingency  which 
had  occurred  to  him  too  late  for  any  plan  of  minimizing 
the  danger — and  were  to  swarm  into  the  courtyard  to 
help  against  the  last  gate  (which,  of  course,  was  partly 
barred  from  the  inside),  he  could  settle  their  hash  also. 
And  that,  now,  was  his  one  idea.  The  idea  of  all  brave 
men  when  they  find  themselves  in  a  tight  place  —  to 
kill  before  being  killed. 

As  yet,  however,  there  was  no  sign  of  life  even  within 
the  vast  wheel,  with  its  rims  and  spokes  of  light,  its 
centre  of  shadow.  It  lay  dim,  curiously  still  behind  the 
dust-atoms  that  danced  in  the  ray,  like  motes  in  a  sun- 
beam. 

There  was  not  a  sound,  not  a  sign  within.  Only  the 
tumult  of  voices,  the  intermittent  shots  without,  rising 
above  the  dull,  muffled  hum  in  the  air. 

Stay !  that  was  something.  Half  way  round  the 
circle,  where  the  shadow  of  the  tall  tamarisk  tree  in  the 
Smiths'  garden  cut  a  jagged  gap  in  the  white  rim  of 
wall,  there  was  some  change,  something  that  had  not 
been  there  a  moment  ago. 

The  gap  had  moved ;  had  changed  place  and  form, 
though  for  a  time  the  air  was  still  with  one  of  those 
breathless,  suffocating  pauses,  when  the  dust  above 
seems  to  sink  on  the  dust  below,  and  fill  one's  very 
lungs.  And  now  the  gap  was  back  again,  as  it  had 
been  before.     But  it  had  left  something  clinging  for  a 


THE  SEARCH-LIGHT  26/ 

second  to  the  wall  like  a  limpet :  the  next  astride  it 
safely. 

"  Reach  me  over  my  rifle,  Smith,"  said  the  doctor, 
briefly;  "  there's  a  brute  trying  to  sniggle  along  the  wall ; 
must  have  come  up  that  tree  in  your  garden.  Wish  I'd 
taken  Bering's  advice  and  cut  it  down.  Thanks  !  I 
don't  want  to  take  my  eye  off  him,  for  fear  he  means  to 
drop  into  a  section.  I'll  shoot,  if  that  seems  his  game  ; 
if  not,  I'll  wait  till  he  comes  closer." 

He  leant  over  the  parapet,  waiting.  Just  below  him,  the 
inner  wall  of  the  gate  against  which  the  stair  clung,  and 
which  was  prolonged  into  the  turret  where  Muriel  and 
the  child  were  sheltering,  joined  the  circular  outside 
wall  of  the  gaol.  The  man,  thought  Dr.  Dillon,  trusting 
to  their  being  occupied  in  front,  must  be  trying  to  steal 
a  march  on  them,  slip  down  the  stair,  and  take  them  in 
the  rear.  There  was  plenty  of  time  to  prevent  that, 
however. 

Muriel  Smith,  roused  by  the  sound  of  Vincent's  name 
from  the  sort  of  lethargy  into  which  she  had  fallen, — 
since  she  was  not  wanted  either  by  her  husband  or  the 
doctor, —  rose  to  her  knees  and  peered  over  the  parapet 
cautiously. 

"From  the  tree  in  the  garden,"  she  said,  dreamily. 
"  Yes  !  I  remember.  You  said  it  couldn't  be  done,  and 
I  said  no  one  would  ever  want  to  do  it,  and  he  said  he 
could  — "  she  paused,  and  gave  a  little  cry — "It  is 
Vincent  himself!"  she  gasped;  "don't  shoot,  doctor! 
It's  Vincent!  I  know  it !  I  feel  it!  I  knew  he  would 
come,  if  he  could  !     Vincent !     Vincent ! " 

"  What's  up } "  asked  Eugene,  still  firing  steadily  at 
all  that  was  to  be  seen. 

"Only  your  wife  says  the  man  is  Captain  Bering; 
and  —  and,  by  Jove  !     I  believe  she  is  right." 

"  Of  course  I'm  right,"  she  sobbed,  half  hysterically 
—  "I  knew  he  would  come  —  I  knew  he  wouldn't  leave 
me  to  die  alone  !  " 

Eugene  Smith  laid  down  his  rifle,  and  crawled  over  in 
cover  deliberately,  with  an  odd  look  on  his  face. 


268  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

**  Yes  !  that's  Bering ;  plucky  fellow.  He's  swung 
himself  up.     I  always  knew  he  was  a  nailing  gymnast." 

There  was  no  grudge  in  his  voice,  only  a  curious  chal- 
lenge as  he  looked  at  his  wife,  then  laid  his  big  hand  on 
her  shoulder.  "Keep  more  down,  please — your  head's 
showing.  He'll  get  here,  all  right,  never  fear;  we'll 
lower  a  rope  to  him  when  he  comes  alongside." 

"But  I  would  rather  look  —  I'd  rather  see  anything 
happen  — "  she  moaned;  "it  seems  so  unkind  not  to 
watch  —  not  to  be  there — with  him  — "  She  was 
shivering  all  over,  the  patient  self-control,  the  steady  ac- 
quiescence even  in  her  own  danger  which  had  been  hers 
till  then,  gone  utterly. 

George  Dillon  felt  a  great  pity,  a  vast  impatience. 

"  So  you  were  right.  Smith,"  he  broke  in  hastily,  to 
cover  her  sudden  break  down.  "  They  aren't  killed ; 
now  we  shall  have  a  chance  of  knowing  what's  at  the 
bottom  of  all  this  foolery  !  " 

But  when,  five  minutes  later,  Vincent  Bering  reached 
the  roof  in  safety,  the  doctor  felt  vaguely  that  the  expla- 
nations only  added  to  the  general  incomprehensibility; 
and  that  something  was  being  kept  back.  What,  he 
asked  impatiently,  had  started  the  show } 

Of  course  there  were  plots.  Pidar  Narayan  knew  of 
them,  but,  as  such  things  generally  did,  they  had  seemed 
abortive.     What,  then,  had  upset  the  apple-cart } 

Vincent  gave  a  gesture  of  despair.  "  What  does  it 
matter .? "  he  cried.  "  We  can  think  of  that  —  if  we  can 
think  —  when  it's  over!  And  if  we  can't  —  what  does 
it  matter.?" 

"  You  can  bet  your  bottom  dollar  on  one  thing,"  said 
Eugene,  who,  in  this  pause  for  a  council  of  war,  was 
methodically  loading  various  weapons  for  future  use. 
"  It  is  either  the  sex,  or  sin.  This  world  would  be  a 
paradise  of  peace  if  people  didn't  want  virtue  or  vice,  — 
I  don't  say  which  is  which,  mind  you."  He  spoke  sud- 
denly, harshly ;  and  once  more  George  Dillon  came  to 
the  rescue. 

"  As  Dering  says,  it  doesn't  matter.     But  the  fact  that 


THE  SEARCH-LIGHT  269 

the  pioneers  are  staunch,  and  may  be  expected  before 
long,  alters  our  tactics  a  bit,  Smith.  We  must  husband 
our  ammunition,  and  stick  on  as  long  as  possible  — 
don't  you  think  so,  Bering?" 

Vincent,  kindly  always,  had  stooped  to  take  little 
Gladys,  who  had  crept  over  to  him,  in  his  arms ;  and  now 
the  child,  her  arms  round  his  neck,  was  cuddHng  close 
to  him.  "  Fm  so  glad  oo's  come,  Derin'  darlin',"  she 
whispered.     "And  so's  mum  —  aren't  '00,  dearest  .-*  " 

Vincent  unclasped  the  soft,  little,  clinging  hands 
almost  resentfully,  and  pulled  himself  together. 

"Yes  !  "  he  said  briefly,  "we've  got  to  hold  out.  So 
it  will  be  better  to  reserve  ourselves,  and  try  to  keep 
the  gaol  itself  quiet.  It  will  take  the  brutes  some  time 
to  force  those  gates  unless  they  get  help  from  within, 
and  then  there  is  the  alley,  and  the  doors.  Still,  we 
shall  want  every  minute  ;  for,  unless  the  storm  lessens, 
Carlyon  will  scarcely  get  the  raft  here  before  dawn.  It 
was  awful  on  the  river." 

It  was,  indeed. 

Even  Am-ma  had  lost  himself  utterly,  while  Lance, 
after  paddling,  and  drifting,  and  shouting  after  a  dozen 
false  hopes,  was  still  as  far  from  finding  the  raft  as  ever. 

What  could  have  become  of  it }  Had  it  started 
sooner  than  he  had  expected,  and  passed  down  before 
he  had  found  Vincent }  Or  had  it  never  started  at  all  ? 
Had  the  men,  after  he  left,  turned  round  on  herf 

This  fear  had  come  to  him  early  in  his  search,  and  he 
had  felt  inclined  then  and  there  to  paddle  back  to  the 
Fort,  and  satisfy  himself  it  was  not  so.  But  the 
thought  of  her  face,  if  he  allowed  care  for  her  to  cause 
delay,  had  kept  him  to  his  task  steadily,  till  he  could  no 
longer  doubt  that  something  had  gone  wrong. 

But  what }     And  what  was  he  to  do } 

Then,  in  a  flash,  had  come  back  her  words  after 
she  had  bidden  him  think  hard.  "  You  must  go  down 
to  the  spit,  cut  across  it  by  the  mission  house,  get  round, 
if  you  can,  to  the  police  camp." 


2/0  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

That  had  been  her  verdict,  involving  her  being  left  to 
take  her  chance. 

And  now  either  the  raft,  the  relief  for  the  gaol,  had 
started,  or  it  had  not.  If  the  former,  he  might,  of 
course,  by  a  stern  chase  overtake  it ;  but  Erda  was 
there  and  Vincent  would  meet  her ;  they  could  do  with- 
out him.  But  if  it  had  not  started,  what  then  }  Then 
matters  were  exactly  as  they  had  been,  when  she  had 
bidden  him  leave  her. 

So,  with  a  feeling  that,  if  this  were  so,  he  cared  little 
what  happened,  he  steered,  so  far  as  he  could  judge,  for 
the  sand-banks  of  the  spit  to  the  right. 

Am-ma,  on  the  contrary,  steered  instinctively  to  the 
left,  towards  the  high  bank,  the  deepest  stream.  It 
would  at  least  float  his  logs  to  their  destination,  and 
that  was  something.  Kings  had  come  and  gone,  and 
battles  had  been  won  and  lost,  but  the  logs  had  always 
had  to  go  down  the  river,  whatever  happened. 

And  among  the  men,  also,  an  apathy  seemed  to  have 
settled,  as  they  drifted  on  and  on  in  the  dark.  Erda, 
crouching  in  a  dry  spot  beside  the  ammunition,  alert  to 
the  uttermost  for  the  least  hint  of  Lance,  realized  this 
from  the  very  tone  of  their  voices  as  they  talked  under 
their  breath  to  each  other.  She  felt  instinctively  that 
the  inaction,  the  darkness,  the  lack  of  a  leader,  were 
lessening  the  value  of  those  twenty  men  each  minute. 

If  Lance  would  only  turn  up !  What  could  have  be- 
come of  him  }  The  time  seemed  interminable ;  she  felt 
sure  that  they  must  already  have  drifted  past  the  gaol ; 
she  began  to  wonder  if  Am-ma  was  not  playing  false. 
For  the  darkness,  the  uncertainty,  had  its  grip  on 
her  also.  It  was  like  some  horrid  nightmare,  to  drift 
on  and  on,  hearing  the  muffled  drumming  of  the  storm, 
feeling  the  strange  vibration  in  the  air,  the  sharp  sand 
tingling  on  your  face,  and  to  know  nothing  —  nothing  at 
all,  save  that  you  were  there. 

**  Am-ma  !  "  she  cried  sharply,  at  last,  certain  of  but 
one  thing,  that  she  must  act,  —  "I  believe  we  have 
passed  the  gaol ;  steer  to  the  right,  do  you  hear  ? " 


BEYOND   THE  SHADOW  2/1 

A  laugh,  not  exactly  insolent,  but  tolerant,  came  from 
the  group  of  men.  "  'Tis  easy  to  give  orders,  Missy- 
baba^'  said  a  voice ;  "  but  not  so  easy  to  obey  them,  when 
the  Lord  is  against  your  side,  and  sends  darkness ! " 

Erda's  heart  gave  a  great  throb,  not  of  fear,  but  com- 
prehension. That  was  the  beginning ;  a  minute  or  two 
more  and  these  men  would  be  out  of  hand. 

**Am-ma!"  she  called  again,  "do  what  I  tell  you. 
Remember  the  child !  Remember  we  have  the  Dee-puk- 
rdg." 

Another  laugh  came  from  the  men. 

"If  you  have  the  Dee-puk-rdgy  send  it  now.  We  need 
light,  for  sure,  and  —  " 

The  voice  ended  in  a  gasp  — 

For  it  was  there  !  A  long  ray  of  light,  showing  them 
that  they  were,  indeed,  just  opposite  the  gaol. 

"  Am-ma !  "  came  Erda's  voice  again,  and  there  was  a 
hush  and  yet  a  triumph  in  it,  "  to  the  right  —  steer  to 
the  right." 

The  raft  edged  slowly  towards  the  ray,  but  the  soldiers 
still  crouched  inactive ;  awed,  yet  not  certain. 

Then  suddenly  that  quick  crack  of  George  Dillon*s 
first  shot  echoed  over  the  river,  then  the  yell,  then  the 
answering  shots. 

And  following  on  their  heels  rapidly  came  a  stir  among 
those  crouching  figures,  and  one  of  them  stood  up  excit- 
edly—  "It  has  begun !  —  see  you,  Prag  !  Lehna,  give  the 
boatman  a  hand !  Lo  !  do  as  the  W\^?>-baba  bade  thee, 
quickly,  son  of  a  pig !  Steer  for  the  light  —  they  have 
begun ! " 

Erda  gave  a  sigh  of  relief.     That  danger  was  over. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

BEYOND   THE  SHADOW 

The  fact  that  the  quarrel  had  begun  did  not,  however, 
have  the  same  effect  upon  Roshan  Khdn. 


2/2  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

In  the  first  tempest  of  rage  and  hate  which  the  sight 
of  Laila  and  Vincent  in  the  balcony  had  roused  in  him 
he  had  simply  let  himself  go.  He  had  not  thought  at 
all.  Had  his  revolver  held  other  cartridges,  he  would 
have  gone  on  shooting  at  Vincent,  Pidar  Narayan,  at 
everybody,  till  he  could  shoot  no  more.  He  had  run 
d-mak ;  that  curious  phase  of  the  Oriental  mind  when 
once  it  oversteps  the  hard  and  fast  lines  of  custom  in 
which  it  moves  and  breathes  and  has  its  being. 

The  very  fact  that  his  revolver  did  not  contain  more 
possibilities  for  death,  that  he  had  no  other  weapon,  em- 
phasized his  wild  revolt. 

He  was  helpless  —  impotent  —  before  these  strangers, 
who  had  stolen  everything !  Everything,  save  bare  ex- 
istence. This  thought,  as  he  burst  into  the  open,  into 
the  lurid  darkness  of  the  new-come  storm,  had  made  him 
laugh  bitterly  ;  for  it  was  only  that  bare  existence  which 
he  wished  to  steal !  They  might  keep  the  rest ;  but  that 
he  would  claim  from  them  somehow,  in  fair  exchange. 

The  time  was  ripe  for  such  exchange  too,  —  for  fair 
exchange.  (The  epithet  "fair"  haunted  him,  trying  to 
still  the  keen  remorse  for  that  shot  in  the  dark  ;  for  one 
part  of  him  knew  it  to  have  been  cowardly.)  Yes  !  this 
useless  plot,  with  foolish  mischief  hidden  in  its  heart,  to 
which  he  had  just  been  Hstening  with  loyal  intent  to  frus- 
trate it,  could  be  made  to  serve  his  purpose  without  delay. 
His  men  would  follow  him  anywhere.  He  had  but  to 
say  the  word  — the  word  so  many  of  them  wanted.  Then, 
those  thieves  of  all  that  made  life  worth  living  would 
learn  a  lesson.  They  would  fight  and  win,  of  course ;  but 
the  lesson  that  without  such  men  as  he  —  men  whom 
they  thwarted  and  repressed  at  every  turn  —  they  could 
not  rely  upon  their  regiments,  would  have  to  be  learnt. 
And  in  the  learning,  one  thief  would  learn  something  else. 

So,  without  more  thought  than  this  desperate  clash- 
ing of  jealousy  and  despair,  he  had  dashed  through  the 
crowd  of  pilgrims  who  were  waiting  for  the  dawn,  gone 
back  to  the  Fort,  and  given  the  word. 

In  the  excitement  which  followed,  spreading  swiftly 


BEYOND   THE  SHADOW  2/3 

from  his  own,  he  had  not  —  and  it  was  typical  of  the 
man  that  he  did  not  —  forget  Lance  Carlyon's  friend- 
liness ;  a  more  equal  friendliness  than  that  of  most. 
There  was  no  need  to  drag  him  into  the  quarrel,  the 
more  so  because  the  disloyalty  of  the  Sikh  pioneers  was 
doubtful.  They  might  complicate  matters  at  the  begin- 
ning. So  he  had  locked  and  barred  them  into  the  inner 
courtyard,  out  of  the  way. 

But  Captain  Bering,  he  knew,  was  outside  !  Let  him 
be  alone  with  his  troopers,  as  he,  Roshan  would  be  alone 
with  them !  Let  them  both  try  their  influence ;  let 
them  try  conclusions  on  these  terms.     That  was  but  fair. 

This  first  step,  however,  necessitated  others.  The 
original  plot,  with  its  waiting  for  the  dawn,  its  cum- 
brous mechanism  of  keys,  and  pilgrims,  and  God  knows 
what,  was  not  to  his  liking.  He  meant  to  fight.  And 
if,  as  the  conspirators  had  asserted,  some  of  the  warders 
were  friends  hand  and  foot,  his  men  could  crack  the  nut 
of  the  gaol  in  half  an  hour.     The  sooner  the  better. 

Pidar  Narayan,  he  knew,  had  recognized  him,  and  he 
was  a  fox  for  wiliness.  Then,  Captain  Bering  must  be 
after  him  even  now.  And  'D\^oxi-sahib  might  be  on  the 
alert  any  time.  So  the  coup  de  main  must  come  at  once. 
As  to  what  might  follow,  that  might  be  after  the  fashion 
of  Meerut  in  '57,  or  not.  Who  could  tell  the  end  of 
anything }  The  beginning  would  be  an  opportunity  for 
fair  fight  between  him  and  a  thief.  Once  more  the  epi- 
thet ''fair"  scorched  and  shrivelled  him  with  vague  re- 
morse, not  for  Laila  —  she  was  but  a  woman,  a  woman 
who  had  played  him  false  and  who  deserved  the  worst  — 
but  for  that  shot  in  the  dark. 

For  there  were  two  Roshans,  warring  fiercely  in  heart 
and  brain. 

Then,  after  his  mad,  reckless  ride  to  the  gaol,  the 
first  realities  had  come  to  him  in  the  sight  of  Br.  Billon, 
standing  with  the  light  in  his  hand  to  welcome  friends ; 
and  in  the  sound  of  those  two  snap-shots  proclaiming 
foes. 

Why  t    The  question  had  come  swiftly.     What  quar- 


274  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

rel  had  he  with  Dr.  Dillon  ?  Or  with  Eugene  Smith, 
whose  tall,  gaunt  figure  showed  behind  the  other?  Eu- 
gene Smith,  who  must  have  brought  his  wife,  his  child, 
with  him ! 

The  horror,  the  terror  of  what  might  come,  swept 
through  the  quondam  prize  pupil  of  a  mission  school ; 
the  horror,  the  terror,  in  the  remembrance  of  the  Great 
Mutiny,  which  is,  alas !  a  legacy  of  wrong  to  young  In- 
dia. Which  ties  her  hand  and  foot ;  which  makes  those 
who  are  worthy  of  the  name  shrink  instinctively  from 
anything  which  may  rouse  the  underlying  savagery  — 
the  unavoidable  savagery  —  of  their  countrymen. 

Could  he  hold  his  troopers  }  Could  he  be  sure  .'*  He 
had  come  to  curse.     Was  it  too  late  to  bless  } 

Then  the  memory  of  Laila  —  the  whole  hateful  tale 
which  was  irrevocable  —  struck  him  hopeless.  He  was 
damned  utterly ;  he  could  not  escape. 

He  sat  rigid  as  a  statue  on  his  horse  for  a  second ; 
then  with  a  wild  fury  gave  the  orders  for  his  troopers 
to  dismount  and  force  the  gates. 

"  Your  slaves,  Nawab-sahib  !  "  had  come  the  answer, 
making  him  smile  proudly.  Thaty  at  any  rate,  could 
not  be  stolen  from  him  now.  Now  he  could  fight  and 
die  in  what  should  have  been  his  real  position. 

Yet,  once  more,  when  the  search-light  had  come  to 
throw  that  group  of  excited  men  hacking  and  hewing 
at  doors  closed  by  authority  into  significant  black-and- 
white  relief,  that  doubt  had  returned ;  that  desire  to  be 
on  the  side,  once  more,  of  men  like  Dr.  Dillon,  whose 
bold  resolve  to  be  alone  responsible  for  his  gaol,  which 
the  warder's  tale  revealed,  filled  him  with  admiration. 

But  that  sudden  throwing  up  of  a  trooper's  hands, 
that  sidelong  stumble  into  death,  had  left  Roshan  cruel 
as  death  itself ;  for  the  man  thus  killed  had  been  to  him 
as  a  brother. 

So  he  had  gone  on  with  a  fresh  impulse  towards  re- 
venge, and  for  a  time  found  forgetfulness  in  the  excite- 
ment, the  action.  For  though  the  first  gate,  that  one 
giving  on  the  open  sort  of  porch,  had  yielded,  almost  at 


BEYOND   THE  SHADOW  2/5 

once,  to  the  troopers  outside  and  the  warders  within, 
the  second,  barring  the  arched  tunnel,  was  a  tougher 
job.  It  was  not  until  this  had  given  way,  and  the  at- 
tacking party  were  completely  sheltered  from  the  fire  of 
the  little  garrison  on  the  roof,  that  there  was  leisure  for 
that  thought  to  return  :  "  What  am  I  doing  ?  Why  am 
I  doing  it  ? " 

No  man,  it  may  be  said  broadly,  ever  fights  without 
feeling  that  the  battle  is  an  appeal  to  a  tribunal  beyond 
himself,  and  Roshan  did  not  feel  this.  Then  the  re- 
membrance of  the  woman,  the  child,  upstairs  came  per- 
sistently, burdened  by  the  weight  of  that  past  tragedy 
which,  in  India,  it  is  impossible  to  forget.  And  this 
was  a  woman  who  had  always  been  courteous  to  him,  a 
child  to  whom  he  had  given  toys. 

What  was  he  doing  } 

The  men  were  at  work  on  the  last,  the  strongest  gate, 
with  every  tool  they  could  find.  Not  many,  for  Dr. 
Dillon's  forethought  had  left  them  before  barred  doors 
everywhere.  The  delay  had  already  been  great ;  would 
be  greater.  They  must  be  close  now  on  the  lines  of 
the  original  plot,  at  which  Roshan  had  laughed,  for  the 
dawn  was  showing  faintly  — a  mere  promise  of  light  to 
come  —  in  the  east.  And  the  storm  was  passing.  The 
dull  reverberations  of  faint  thunder  were  lost  now  in 
the  cries,  the  blows  of  those  at  work  trying  to  batter 
down  the  iron  bars. 

A  sudden  distaste  —  more  than  regret  or  repentance 
—  came  to  Roshan  as  he  stood  silent,  watching  blow 
after  blow ;  a  sudden  doubt. 

Which  was  the  right }  No  man  worth  calling  a  man 
ever  fights  for  anything  else ;  every  man  worth  calling 
one  fights  for  that.  But  which  was  right }  Those  men, 
hacking  and  hewing,  or  the  little  garrison  upstairs  ? 

There  were  no  such  searchings  of  heart  there,  at  any 
rate ;  no  question  as  to  what  they  were  doing,  though 
at  that  exact  moment  they  were  engaged  in  the  trivial 
occupation  of  drinking  tea. 

Muriel  Smith  had  made  it,  at  Dr.  Dillon's  suggestion, 


2/6  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

against  this  very  pause;  this  ^^ cease  firing^'  which  he 
had  foreseen.  And  in  the  making  of  it  she  had  used 
a  continental  tea-basket  which  more  than  once  had  been 
her  companion  on  the  Brindisi  route.  Dr.  Dillon  had 
laid  hands  on  it  in  his  foraging,  and  as  she  had  boiled 
the  kettle,  the  rush  and  roar  of  a  train  racing  through 
the  peaceful  French  champaignes  had  seemed  to  be 
in  her  ears,  instead  of  that  rush  and  roar  of  blows  and 
shouting  which  was  now  rising  from  every  part  of  the 
gaol ;  though  the  prisoners  were  still  helpless  for  evil  in 
their  sections. 

So  the  three  men,  haggard,  anxious,  drank  their  tea 
in  silence,  hastily ;  yet  with  a  curious  insistence,  as  if 
the  triviality  gave  them  a  hold  on  things  familiar,  things 
beyond  this  midsummer-night's  dream  of  madness.  But 
the  child  chattered  as  she  munched  a  biscuit ;  chattered 
of  the  charms  of  this  strange  picnic  on  the  **  woofy  in 
the  dark  with  ods  nighty  an  sippers  only'' 

The  unconscious  little  voice  struck  a  chill  to  the  men's 
hearts,  but  the  woman  smiled,  as  mothers  can  do  when 
they  wish  to  guard  that  blessed  unconsciousness  to  the 
last ;  the  unconsciousness  of  which  they  are  guardians 
by  right. 

"We  are  doing  as  well  as  could  be  expected,"  re- 
marked Dr.  Dillon,  suddenly,  with  a  quaint  professional 
reminiscence ;  then  added,  *'  I  wish  to  God,  though,  I 
knew  what  my  prisoners  were  up  to  —  those  solitary 
cellers  are  on  my  mind  —  I  believe  the  convalescents 
could  dig  them  out  with  the  cook-room  platters  and 
ladles.  I  ought  to  have  thought  of  that.  But,  as  I  say, 
we  are  doing  very  fairly  well  —  your  light,  Dering,  was 
a  godsend." 

Eugene  Smith  looked  up  sharply,  almost  as  if  he 
meant  a  disclaimer ;  then  he  gave  a  brief  assent.  **  Yes  ! 
but  that  will  be  more  of  a  godsend  still  —  it  is  the  dawn  !  " 

He  pointed  to  that  faint  promise  of  light  in  the  east, 
and  Vincent  Dering's  eyes  followed  his  hand  with  the 
doubtful  look  of  one  sick  to  death,  as  he  watches  the 
long  weary  night  merge  once  more  into  another  long 


BEYOND    THE  SHADOW  2// 

weary  day  of  certain  pain.  There  was  an  utter  hope- 
lessness in  it. 

"Yes,"  he  echoed  slowly,  "that  is  the  dawn." 

"  Carlyon  said  the  attack  was  planned  for  dawn,  didn't 
he } "  asked  the  doctor,  deliberately  helping  himself  to 
another  lump  of  sugar,  deliberately  trying  to  keep  the 
pulse  beats  of  those  around  him  as  near  normal  as  might 
be  —  and  there  had  been  something  beyond  it  in  Vin- 
cent's voice.  "  They  must  have  meant  to  use  the  keys 
that  brute  Kishen  Rao  made  off  with.  I  wonder  what 
it  was  that  started  the  show  prematurely  .-* " 

"  Do  you  think  it  was  premature }  Why }  "  put  in 
Eugene  Smith. 

"  We  should  have  had  some  of  the  townspeople,  some 
of  the  pilgrims  otherwise." 

"  Perhaps  the  storm  " — began  Vincent. 

The  doctor  shook  his  head.  "  If  they  had  meant  to 
come  they  would  have  come.  Of  course  now,  with  the 
wind  blowing  straight  off  us,  they  can't  possibly  hear." 

He  paused  and  listened,  for  a  sudden  silence  had  fallen 
on  the  turmoil  beneath,  and  out  of  it  came  an  all  too 
familiar  sound,  the  clank  of  leg  irons.  Some  of  the 
prisoners,  therefore,  had  managed  to  break  out  of  their 
dormitories  ;  or  were  these  the  solitary  cellers  t 

"  I  wish  Carlyon  would  turn  up,"  he  muttered,  almost 
petulantly,  "it's  our  only  chance  —  " 

But  there  was  to  be  another ;  for,  from  below,  a  voice 
rose  loud  and  clear. 

"  Dr.  Dillon !  I  have  no  desire  to  hurt  you  or  yours, 
but  I  warn  you  that,  if  you  persist,  I  am  not  responsible. 
Open  the  gates,  and  you  shall  have  a  safe  conduct  —  for 
• — for  everybody." 

George  Dillon  was  on  his  feet  at  once,  but  Captain 
Dering  stopped  him  ;  his  eyes  ablaze. 

"  What  shall  I  tell  him,  Dillon  .? "  he  said  sharply.  "  I'll 
take  my  orders  from  you  —  you're  in  charge;  but  that 
man  is  under  mine.     What  shall  I  say }  " 

Dr.  Dillon  gave  one  glance  at  the  woman  and  the 
child.     "Tell  him  to  be  universally  damned,"  he  an- 


2/8  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

swered  ;  and  Eugene  Smith,  husband  and  father,  nodded 
acquiescence. 

Roshan  Khan  was  standing  in  full  view  as  Vincent 
Bering  stepped  up  to  the  parapet.  His  face  was  raised; 
there  was  almost  an  appeal  in  it.  But  every  atom  of 
that,  every  atom  almost  of  humanity,  vanished  as  he 
recognized  his  captain.  His  hand  went  instinctively  to 
his  revolver. 

Then  a  thought  seemed  to  come  to  him.  He  drew 
himself  up  proudly,  and  waited  for  the  answer. 

It  came,  keen  as  a  knife. 

*^  Risaldar /  draw  off  your  men  and  return  to  barracks, 
or  I'll  shoot  you  as  a  mutineer." 

There  was  half  a  second's  silence  ;  then  a  wild  laugh  : 
"Close  up,  men,  rush  that  gate  —  forward!  " 

The  words  and  the  crack  of  Vincent's  revolver  —  the 
bullet  of  which,  aimed  too  high,  passed  through  Roshan's 
turban — were  almost  lost  in  the  answering  yell.  But 
the  risaldar  stood  his  ground  for  a  second,  then  coolly 
sought  shelter. 

That  was  over !  They  were  quits  now  for  the  fair  fight. 
And  fate  had  been  kind.  He  had  unwittingly  offered 
this  man  —  his  greatest  enemy  —  a  safe  conduct;  and  it 
had  been  refused,  luckily.  Well !  let  Vincent  Bering 
take  the  whole  consequences.  The  blood  of  one  woman 
was  already  on  his  head  ;  so  would  be  the  blood  spilt 
here.  He,  Roshan,  would  need  have  no  further 
scruples. 

So,  as  if  it  had  gained  strength  from  the  brief  respite, 
the  turmoil  recommenced ;  and  now  Roshan  Khan's  voice 
could  be  heard  urging  the  men  on.  And  there  were 
answering  shouts  from  different  parts  of  the  gaol. 

George  Billon  frowned.  "  They  mean  business  now. 
And  I  fancy  I  hear  pounding  at  the  left  section  door. 
If  so  we  shall  have  the  solitary  cell  men  —  my  worst  lot, 
of  course  —  out  in  the  courtyard  before  long.  Bering 
—  can  you  hear  anything  t  —  there's  such  a  confounded 
noise  —  " 

Vincent,  who  was  standing  at  the  top  of  the  stairs 


BEYOND    THE  SHADOW  2/9 

which  led  to  the  ten-feet  drop,  ran  down  a  few  steps  and 
listened.     Then  he  looked  up  quickly  and  nodded. 

**  They  are  there.  The  door's  shaking.  How  many 
of  them  are  there  t " 

*'  Two  dozen  or  thereabouts  ;  and  the  convalescents, 
of  course.  That's  nothing — if  they  haven't  got  their 
leg  irons  off  !  We  ought  to  settle  most  of  them  before 
they  can  help  with  the  door.  Still,  I  wish  Carlyon  would 
turn  up." 

A  sudden  hurry  and  urgency  had  come  to  the  strug- 
gle, and  Dr.  Dillon  passed  restlessly  to  the  other  side  of 
the  roof.  The  sky  was  lightening  faintly.  More  because 
the  dust  had  sought  dust  again,  the  earth  earth,  than 
from  any  increase  of  light ;  and  so  the  broad  ray  of  the 
search-light,  widening  as  it  went,  lost  itself  in  the  distant 
darkness,  and  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen  riverwards. 
But  close  at  hand  two  men  —  one  in  a  warder's  uniform 
—  were  running  towards  the  gaol,  shouting. 

The  doctor  was  back  to  the  inner  parapet  in  a  second. 
"Look  out !  they've  got  the  keys  now — -not  of  this  door, 
but  some  of  the  sections  —  and  the  alley.  The  game's 
up  unless  Carlyon  —  Mrs.  Smith,  please  !  —  you  had 
better  go  into  the  turret  —  we  shall  be  shooting 
free—" 

Eugene,  who  had  been  standing  beside  her,  laid  his 
hand  on  her  shoulder.  "  Yes,  dear  !  "  he  said  gently  ; 
"go  inside  —  it  will  be  better  for  Gladys — and  for 
me  —  " 

Muriel  turned  white,  but  stood  quite  firm,  quite  calm. 
"Come,  little  girlie,"  she  said,  holding  out  her  hand  to 
the  child.  "You've  had  your  tea — it's  bedtime  —  I 
can't  have  you  sitting  up  all — "  she  broke  down  a  little, 
partly  because  she  was  passing  Vincent,  and  he,  busy 
loading  various  rifles  and  revolvers,  kept  his  eyes  studi- 
ously from  her.  But  Gladys  did  not  choose  to  pass 
her  friend  in  this  fashion.  She  paused,  a  dainty  little 
figure  in  a  blue  dressing-gown,  like  her  mother,  and  with 
the  same  fluffy  golden  curls  about  her  coaxing,  delicate 
little  child's  face. 


280  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

"Dood-night,  Derin'  darlin',"  she  said.  "Fm  so 
glad  'oo's  here,  an'  so's  — " 

Something  that  was  not  all  desire  to  check  that 
formula  made  the  ^  man  pause,  too,  to  lift  her  gently, 
and  kiss  her. 

"  Good-night,  Gladys.  You  mustn't  be  frightened  at 
anything,  you  know.  You've  got  to  be  a  brave  girl  — 
haven't  you } "  The  coaxing  face  was  close  to  the  hag- 
gard, haunted-looking  one. 

"  If  'oo's  goin'  to  be  brave,  Derin'  darlin',  I'll  be 
brave  too.     Is  'oo,  dearest } " 

The  haggardness  vanished. 

"I  think  so,  little  one.  Good-night."  He  put  the 
child  down  hastily,  at  a  crash.  The  moment  for  cour- 
age had  come. 

*'  Shoot  as  straight  as  you  can  ! "  shouted  the  doctor. 
*'The  section  door's  gone.     Let  'em  have  it !  " 

The  door  had  gone,  indeed ;  and  in  a  second  the 
courtyard  beneath  them  was  half  full  of  naked,  desper- 
ate men  ;  the  worst  characters  in  the  gaol. 

"Pick  off  the  ones  nearest  the  gate  —  don't  let  'em 
touch  the  bolts  —  it's  good  for  another  ten  minutes  if 
we  can  keep  them  from  it,"  came  the  doctor's  voice  in 
jerks,  as  he  leant  over  the  parapet  just  above  the  cen- 
tre of  the  door  below,  and  carried  out  his  own  orders 
with  deadly  effect ;  though  his  heart  sank  when  he  saw 
that  some  of  the  prisoners  were  unironed  —  or  rather 
unironed  on  one  leg,  and  that  they  were  armed  with 
the  other  iron ;  a  deadly  enough  weapon  at  close  quar- 
ters. Besides,  it  meant  more  treachery.  It  meant  a 
previous  filing  of  the  ankle-fetters ;  and  if  others  in  the 
remaining  sections  were  as  free  — 

He  shot  quicker,  steadier,  while  Eugene  Smith  and 
Vincent,  one  above  the  other  on  the  top  of  the  stair, 
did  the  same,  taking  the  intruders  on  the  flank.  It 
was  growing  lighter  every  instant,  the  air  was  clearer, 
the  breeze  of  dawn  was  sweeping  the  smoke  of  the 
rifles  riverwards,  the  great  white  wheel  of  the  gaol 
was  growing  broader  in  its  outlines,  the  shadows  were 


BE YOND   THE  SHADOW  2% I 

shrinking.  But  the  storm  seemed  still  there,  in  the 
ceaseless  reverberations. 

**  They're  up  to  something  in  the  far  corner  !  "  called 
Eugene.     "What  is  it,  Dillon  .?     You  can  see  better." 

The  doctor  ceased  firing  for  a  second,  and  ran  farther 
down  the  parapet. 

"The  keys!  the  keys!"  he  shouted  back.  "They 
are  trying  to  pass  in  the  keys  !  Shoot  the  devils  — ■ 
those  in  the  corner !  Don't  let  'em  —  or  the  gaol  is 
gone ! " 

So,  for  the  next  minute,  it  was  deadly  work  down  in 
that  corner  by  the  crevice  through  which  some  unseen 
hand  was  thrusting  something.  Three  times  a  man, 
clutching  at  the  prize,  fell  in  a  heap  ere  he  touched  it. 
Then  a  fourth  pitched  forward  against  the  doors  with 
the  keys  in  his  hand,  and  a  fifth,  groping  for  them, 
rolled  over  on  his  side  with  them  hidden  under  his  dead 
body.  And  from  outside  the  gate  came  rendings,  and 
crashings,  and  yells;  from  above,  that  call,  "Shoot 
straight,  or  the  gaol's  gone ! " 

Muriel  crept  out  from  shelter,  possessed  once  more 
by  that  frantic  desire  to  see  to  the  very  end,  and  stood 
looking  down  on  those  two  on  the  stairs.  She  gave  a 
faint  cry  when  Vincent  flung  his  rifle  away,  and  ran 
down  to  that  ten-foot  drop  for  revolver  practice.  At 
the  sound,  her  husband  gave  one  quick  look  up,  and 
followed  suit. 

But  their  own  success  was  against  them.  The  grow- 
ing pile  of  the  wounded  formed  a  barricade,  behind 
which  a  man,  squirming  with  covetous  hands  among  the 
dead  and  dying,  found  what  he  sought. 

"  He's  got  them  !     Stop  him  !  stop  him  !  " 

There  was  a  fusillade,  the  man  dropped ;  but  the  keys 
were  in  another  hand  —  another — another  —  passing 
outwards  from  the  crush  —  outwards  towards  that  low 
door  at  the  end  of  the  narrow  alley. 

Without  a  word,  Vincent,  revolver  in  hand,  let  him- 
self drop  on  the  heads  below. 

"Oh,  don't,  Vincent,  don't !  "  came  a  woman's  voice; 


282  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

and  at  the  sound,  another  man  gave  that  swift  look  up 
once  more,  and  followed  suit. 

"Let  them  be!"  said  Dr.  Dillon,  sharply.  "Let 
them  do  what  they  can ;  it  is  about  the  only  chance." 
And  still,  as  he  spoke,  he  kept  singling  out  a  foe  and 
firing. 

The  chance,  even  with  his  help,  was  a  poor  one  in 
that  crowd,  where  there  was  always  another  dark  hand 
to  snatch  at  the  prize,  and  pass  it  nearer  to  the  door  — 
that  door  which  was  the  key  to  so  much  ! 

Yet,  the  crush  through  which  they  fought  lessening, 
those  two  Englishmen  found  themselves  with  the 
straight  alley  before  them  for  a  race.  A  race  against 
three  men,  without  arms,  but  without  irons ;  and  with  a 
fair  start.  While  close  behind  was  the  crush  —  the 
crowd ! 

It  was  nothing  but  a  race,  now,  since  the  revolvers 
had  done  their  worst,  had  fired  their  last  shot ;  a  race 
with  the  hope  —  if  Vincent  could  come  up  with  those 
three  —  of  using  a  Goorkha  kukris  which  he  had  thrust 
into  the  yellow  silk  sash  he  wore  instead  of  a  waistcoat 
beneath  his  red  jacket  —  thrust  it  therewith  an  ugly 
frown  as  a  last  argument  for  his  foes,  when  he  had  seen 
it  lying  among  the  pile  of  miscellaneous  weapons  Dr. 
Dillon  had  foraged  from  the  Smiths'  house.  It  had  a 
dainty  ivory  handle  —  Vincent  had  given  it  to  Mrs. 
Smith  himself,  and  its  last  use  had  been  to  cut  the 
pages  of  a  fashion  paper  — 

It  had  a  sterner  job  now. 

But  Vincent  was  behind  ;  a  yard  or  two — no  more. 
He  had  fired  one  more  shot  before  beginning  the  race, 
and  Eugene's  legs  were  longer.  Yet  the  yard  meant  all 
things,  and  he  knew  it ;  so  as  he  ran,  his  hand  sought 
the  knife. 

"Look  out.  Smith!  look  out!"  he  called.  "I'll 
chuck  you  my  kukri ;  get  on  and  job  them ;  I'll  keep 
the  others  back  —  a  bit." 

As  he  spoke,  a  glittering  curve  sped  from  his  hand  to 
the  other  man's  feet. 


BEYOND   THE  SHADOW  283 

Then  he  pulled  up  and  faced  the  crowd  behind  with 
his  clubbed  revolver. 

The  lane  was  very  narrow.  Three  men  could  barely 
breast  it  shoulder  to  shoulder.  Surely  one  could  bar  it 
by  swift  blows  and  slow  retreat !  For  a  time,  at  any 
rate  —  time  for  the  opening  and  shutting  of  a  door ! 
He  could  but  try. 

''  Oh  !  what  is  he  going  to  do } "  gasped  the  woman 
who  was  watching. 

"  I  appose  he's  going  to  be  brave,  mum,"  said  the 
child,  who  clutched  at  her  hand,  watching,  too,  with 
great,  wide,  uncomprehending  eyes. 

But  the  man  beside  them  held  his  breath. 

So  retreating,  step  by  step,  Vincent  Bering  kept  the 
crowd  back,  lured  the  crowd  on,  safe  —  so  far!  For 
these,  the  first,  the  swiftest,  were  naturally  the  un- 
ironed,  therefore,  the  unarmed.  But  there  were  others, 
forcing  their  way  to  the  front,  who  would  be  harder 
to  deal  with. 

Vincent  threw  his  head  back  and  wondered  how 
Eugene  was  faring ;  for  he  dared  not  turn  his  face  from 
his  task  even  for  a  second. 

Had  those  three  been  caught  up.**  Had  the  kukri 
helped  .>* 

It  had.  And  one  of  those  three  had  fallen  before  a 
flash,  as  of  light. 

And  another ! 

But  the  third  had  the  key  in  the  door ;  had  turned  it, 
when  Eugene  struck  him  from  behind.  With  a  wild 
yell  he  flung  his  full  weight  on  the  door ;  it  burst  open, 
and  the  two  fell  headlong  into  the  tower  beyond. 

But  only  for  a  second.  Eugene  Smith  was  up  again, 
had  the  key  out,  and  in  on  the  further  side. 

"  All  right ! "  he  shouted  ;  "  make  a  rush  for  it !  I'm 
ready !  " 

Vincent   Bering   gave  one   sharp  look  round. 

The  door  was  not  four  yards  from  him,  but  the  crowd 
was  not  one.     There  was  no  time. 

"Shut  it,"  he  called,  'U'm  all  right." 


284  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

Eugene  Smith  stood  uncertain  ;  the  door  ajar. 

The  keys  !  ah  !  what  could  he  do  with  the  keys  if  he 
went  back  to  help  ?  —  and  if  not  — 

"  Oh !  please  shut  it,  Smith !  there's  a  good  fellow ; 
please." 

The  four  yards  were  two  now,  were  one. 

Then  slowly  the  door  closed,  and  Vincent  had  his  back 
against  it. 

*'  Oh,  Vincent !  Vincent !  " 

The  agonized  cry  echoed  above  all  other  cries,  but 
only  for  an  instant ;  the  next,  George  Dillon's  hand 
was  gagging  the  lips  which  uttered  it. 

"  Hush  !  "  he  said  fiercely.  ''  Can't  you  let  him  for- 
get for  these  last  few  minutes  that  there  is  such  a  thing 
as  a  woman  in  the  world.     Hush  !  I  say." 

And  a  great  hush  came.  The  sound  of  blows,  of  iron 
clashing  on  iron,  and  falling  with  a  dull  thud  on  some- 
thing softer,  seemed  to  fill  the  world  and  leave  room  for 
nothing  else. 

Nothing  except  a  softer  sound  still.  A  shuddering 
moan,  as  a  woman  slipped  to  her  knees,  and  covered 
her  face  with  her  hands ;  then  slipped  lower  still  to  the 
ground,  in  a  heap. 

But  the  child  looked  at  her  mother,  surprised. 

"  Doesn't  '00  like  Derin'  darlin'  to  be  brave,  dearest .?" 
she  asked,  in  a  concerned  little  voice. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

DAWN 

Had  an  hour  passed,  or  twain  }  Ninian  Bruce  could 
not  tell.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  been  kneeling 
for  a  lifetime,  there  on  the  altar  steps  beside  the  dying 
girl,  with  the  glittering  red-and-gold  drapery  trailing  to 
the  white  marble,  and  opening  to  a  white  breast  stained 
red, —  a  brighter  red  ! 


DAWN  285 

A  long  lifetime  ;  long  as  his  own ;  that  long  life  in 
which  he  had  seen,  had  felt,  so  much. 

For  as  he  waited  for  her  inevitable  death,  his  mind 
had  followed  that  long  life  of  his  own,  year  after  year, 
day  after  day,  hour  after  hour.  And  everywhere  it  had 
seen  a  woman's  eyes,  a  woman's  soul,  looking  back  from 
a  soul,  from  eyes,  that  should  have  been  a  man's. 

Yes !  the  keynote  of  that  long  life  had  been  the  love 
of  a  woman.  Passionate  love,  absorbing  mind  as  well 
as  body,  claiming  its  reward  in  kind ;  as  such  love 
always  does. 

In  kind  ! 

There  lay  the  whole  difference  between  anathema 
and  beata.     They  were  both  karma^  or  desire  ! 

One  of  the  girl's  white  feet  slid  with  a  silvery  jingle 
of  its  anklet  to  the  next  step,  and,  as  he  replaced  it  to  a 
more  comfortable  position,  a  chill  struck  to  his  heart  as 
he  remembered  what  such  chiming  had  meant  in  the 
past  history  of  the  world.  The  measure  which  that 
provoked  was  —  anathema.  That  —  disguised,  palliated, 
refined  in  a  thousand  ways  —  was  one  kind. 

And  the  other } 

The  memory  of  his  own  past  surged  to  his  brain  as 
he  bent  over  the  girl's  whitening  face  and  scanned  it 
narrowly.  How  like  the  face  was  to  that  other  one, 
now  that  coming  death  had  sharpened  the  full,  youthful 
curves.  He  had  noticed  the  likeness  often — it  had 
been  clear  when  Laila  had  worn  the  old  Italian  —  Bea- 
trice's—  dress.  But  not  so  clear,  not  half  so  clear,  as 
when  in  this  —  this  almost  shameless  one  —  she  had 
said  —  "I  only  want  —  him. " 

It  might  have  been  Margherita  speaking,  —  Mar- 
gherita,  who  had  wanted  a  man's  soul. 

And  she  had  had  one. 

That  was  the  other  kind.  But  both  were  desire ;  the 
desire  which  drove  humanity  from  Paradise,  and  keeps 
it  vainly  seeking  for  one  still. 

Saturated  as  he  was  with  the  mysticism  of  the  East 
and  West,  these  thoughts  came  to  him,  dreamily,  making 


286  THE  HOSTS   OF   THE  LORD 

him  feel  curiously  aloof  from  himself.  The  pity  of  it 
filled  him,  and  brought  a  pity  for  the  dying  girl  also ; 
the  girl  who  had  failed  to  find  a  paradise  in  this 
world,  and  was  seeking  a  new  road  to  it ;  seeking  it 
alone.  The  only  thing  she  craved  in  all  God's  earth 
to  make  that  paradise  —  gone!  Priest  as  he  was,  the 
humanity  in  him  rose  in  passionate  hope  that  she  should 
not  wake  to  the  consciousness  of  this.  What  good  would 
it  do }     Let  her  enter  the  shadows  in  peace. 

But  as  he  wished  the  wish,  her  head,  which  had  been 
resting  on  his  arm,  turned  to  the  touch  of  it,  and  her 
smooth  cheek  nestled  closer  to  what  it  found. 

"  Kiss  me,  Vincent,"  she  said,  and  her  voice  came 
back  full,  rich,  round,  to  make  the  claim.  ''Kiss  me 
before  you  go,  dear!  " 

The  old  man  gave  a  slight  shiver,  and  was  silent. 

"Vincent!"  came  the  voice  again;  "you  are  there, 
aren't  you }    You  wouldn't  leave  me  —  now  —  surely } " 

There  was  another  silent  pause,  and  then,  silent  still. 
Father  Ninian  stooped,  and  the  old  lips  and  the  young 
ones  met  in  a  lover's  kiss.  And  as  they  met,  he  knew 
that  in  that  kiss  lay  the  great  renunciation  of  his  life ; 
that  henceforward  there  would  be  no  woman  waiting  in 
Paradise  for  him  ;  that  the  spiritual  presence  had  gone 
from  his  life  like  the  bodily  presence.  That  Margherita 
was  Juliet,  and  Juliet,  Margherita  ! 

"That's  nice,"  murmured  Laila,  softly;  "that's  nice." 

Her  head  settled  to  his  arm  again,  and  the  silence 
went  on.  On  and  on,  till  he  stooped  lower  to  listen  for 
an  unheard  breath  ;  then  lower  still  to  shift  that  head 
from  his  arm  to  the  ground.  For  the  need  of  a  human 
touch,  a  human  sympathy,  had  gone  forever. 

He  made  the  sign  of  the  cross  over  the  dead  body, 
rose  to  his  feet  unsteadily,  and  looked  about  him,  dazed, 
uncertain.  In  truth,  he  felt  all  his  years  for  the  first 
time ;  felt  that  his  last  hold  on  life  had  somehow  gone 
from  him  in  that  kiss ;  that  something  more  than  one 
woman  lay  dead  before  him. 

Then  the  sight  of  Akbar  Khan,  still  rocking  himself 


DAWN  287 

backwards  and  forwards,  a  perfect  pendulum  of  protest- 
ing innocence  and  helpless  remorse,  roused  the  old 
priest  to  the  present.  He  took  up  the  rapier  he  had 
laid  aside  in  crossing  the  chapel,  and  passed  over  to 
where  the  old  eunuch  was  bemoaning  the  high-handed- 
ness of  fate.  It  was  a  tyranny,  indeed !  Who  could 
have  foreseen  such  an  ending  to  a  very  ordinary  in- 
trigue }  Who  could  even  have  dreamt  of  it .''  Had  not 
men  and  women  loved  and  met,  thus,  since  the  begin- 
ning of  time  .-* 

So,  to  the  sinner's  outraged  experience  of  life  and  love 
came  the  saint  with  his,  and  with  the  face  and  sword  of 
St.  Michael  and  All  Angels. 

"Tell  me  the  truth,"  he  said  sternly;  *'and  tell  it 
quickly,  for  there  is  no  time  to  lose." 

In  truth  there  was  not  much  to  tell.  It  was  all  so 
simple,  viewed  as  a  whole  ;  so  complex  in  detail.  And, 
as  he  listened,  the  anger  left  Pidar  Narayan's  face  wist- 
ful, wondering.  More  so  than  ever  at  the  last  mumbling 
excuse. 

"It  all  comes,  Ge-reeb-ptm-wdz,  from  the  Almighty 
having  made  the  Wissy-baba  so  like  her  sainted  ances- 
tress—  Anari  Begum  —  on  whom  be  peace." 

Anari  Begum !  On  whom  be  peace !  Her  sainted 
ancestress,  on  whom  be  peace  ! 

He  stood  for  an  instant  looking  towards  the  Altar, 
towards  the  dead  girl ;  then  he  echoed  under  his  breath, 
"  On  whom  be  peace  !  " 

That  was  the  end. 

Peace  on  those  women  who  had  loved  and  died  ;  and 
on  the  men  who  had  loved  them — lived  for  them  — 
perhaps  died  for  them. 

But  for  the  rest  who  lived  and  loved  still }  A  quick 
life  seemed  to  come  back  to  him  at  the  thought  of  these, 
a  desire  to  save  them  from  death. 

"  Follow  me,"  he  said  briefly  to  the  old  retainer;  "it 
must  be  close  on  dawn  —  I  must  see  what  I  can  do." 

So,  still  in  his  robes,  with  the  blubbering  old  pantaloon 
• — apostle  of  another  cult — at  his  heels,  he  passed  down 


288  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

the  arched  passage  to  the  door  at  its  end  which  opened 
on  to  the  courtyard  between  the  palace  and  the  Fort. 
And  as  he  went,  his  brain,  confused  as  to  the  past,  clear 
as  to  the  present,  was  busy  making  plans  for  peace.  So 
far  as  helping  those  at  the  gaol  went,  he  knew  himself 
to  be  powerless.  Physically,  a  couple  of  old  men  — 
mere  shadows  of  men  —  could  give  no  help,  and  he  could 
not  hope  for  influence  there,  among  the  Hosts  of  the 
Devil.  But  here  in  the  city,  among  those  Hosts  of  the 
Lord  — the  pilgrims  for  whom  he  had  always  had  a  se- 
cret sympathy,  who  knew  him,  at  least,  by  reputation  — 
with  whom,  at  least,  he  stood  on  common  ground  —  he 
might  have  some.  He  could  but  try ;  try  to  persuade 
some,  at  least,  of  the  great  mass  of  seekers  after  the 
"  Cradle  of  the  Gods"  to  go  on  their  way  in  peace  when 
the  dawn  came ;  try  to  save  some  of  them  from  follow- 
ing a  wrong  road. 

The  door  was  slightly  ajar;  he  widened  the  chink  and 
looked  out  with  a  sinking  heart  over  the  courtyard  with 
its  raised  union-jack  of  paths.  Much  larger  than  the 
yard  about  the  Pool  of  Immortality,  it  was  crammed 
from  end  to  end  now  with  a  crowd,  the  first  look  at 
which  told  him  that  his  chance  of  a  hearing  was  small 
indeed,  for  the  dawn  was  closer  than  he  had  thought  for 
amid  the  shadows  of  the  chapel,  and  the  grey  glimmer 
of  coming  light  showed  him  once  more  a  sea  of  upturned 
eager  faces.  But  the  patience  of  the  previous  dawn  was 
gone.  They  were  restless  now,  restless  with  the  vague, 
uncertain  restlessness  which  is  so  dangerous  in  a  crowd, 
which  tells  that  the  fuel  for  the  flame  is  only  awaiting  a 
match,  any  match,  to  fire  it.  And  there  were  many  only 
waiting  to  be  struck.  The  next  instant  might  bring  one. 
Father  Ninian  felt  this  instinctively,  felt  that  here  in  this 
courtyard  lay  the  mine  which  the  returning  troopers,  the 
desperadoes  from  the  gaol,  were  to  fire  first.  All  Esh- 
wara  might  rise  afterwards,  but  the  great  danger  lay 
here,  must  be  grappled  with  here.     But  how } 

Not  by  words.  The  ear  of  a  crowd  is  always  difficult 
to  gain,  unless  the  eye  is  taken  first,  and  a  man  had 


DA  WN  289 

both  already.  For  aloft,  on  the  barrel  of  the  big  old 
gun  which  centred  the  square,  jogi  Gorakh-nath  was 
expounding  their  wrongs  to  the  pilgrims,  their  inevita- 
ble damnation  if  the  wrath  of  the  Gods  was  not  instantly 
appeased.  His  wild,  weird  figure,  in  all  its  nakedness, 
its  austerity,  could  be  seen  above  the  little  circle  of 
lamps  which  his  immediate  supporters  held  upwards  at 
arm's-length.  And  above  his  head,  like  a  canopy, 
drifted  the  wisps  of  tired  earth-atoms  which  were  being 
driven  sideways  by  the  breeze  of  dawn  as  they  fell  in 
their  search  for  rest.  For  the  storm  was  over,  their 
brief  ambition  for  something  .beyond  mere  earth  was 
past.  Wisps,  which,  as  they  swept  over  the  circling 
lights,  took  a  lurid  glow,  then  faded  into  the  dim 
shadows  again. 

And  something  else  caught  the  liglit  redly.  The 
chaplet  of  human  skulls,  the  dread  Mother's  necklace, 
which  the  jogi  swung  from  one  hand  to  the  other  as 
he  called  for  blood  —  for  blood  to  appease  Her — the 
Mother  of  all — the  Eternal  Womanhood! 

Since  without  the  shedding  of  blood  there  is  no 
remission  of  sins. 

The  tenet  of  all  religions  echoed  into  the  ear  of  the 
crowd,  the  strange  demoniacal  figure,  in  its  lurid  setting, 
held  its  eye.  What  chance  was  therefor  a  single  voice  } 
None. 

Yet  something  must  be  done.  For  the  dawn  was 
nigh.  Every  instant  the  light  grew.  Any  moment 
might  bring  that  inrush  of  evil  from  the  gaol  which 
would  breed  violence  among  these  still  peaceful  folk ; 
the  ignorant,  helpless  folk  who  were  being  held  captive 
by  words  against  the  coming  of  that  inrush. 

Suddenly,  for  a  second,  the  attention  of  the  crowd 
wavered.  A  tall  man  in  the  white  dress  of  a  European- 
ized  native  had  been  hoisted  to  the  shoulders  of  some 
others,  not  far  from  the  jogi^  and  so,  from  this  coign  of 
vantage,  prepared  to  harangue  the  people. 

"  'Tis  Ramanund,"  said  someone  close  to  where  Father 
Ninian   stood   in   the   shadow   of   the   door.      "He   is 


290  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

Brahmin,  and  a  scholar  above  scholars.  Mayhap  he  will 
tell  us  what  to  do  these  times,  when  all  seems  wrong. 
There  is  no  harm  in  listening." 

Nor  good  either.  For  the  first  words  of  that  appeal  of 
culture  to  ignorance  were  drowned  in  a  fiendish  laugh, 
a  frenzied  rattling  of  the  dread  chaplet,  a  loud  defiance. 

"  Hold  thy  peace,  Baboo-jee  !  What  is  blood  to  thee, 
who  hath  no  God  to  whom  thou  canst  give  it }  But  we 
have,  brethren.  These  be  Her  drinking-cups,  the  skulls 
of  men  like  ourselves.  Let  us  give  Her  pleasure, 
brothers,  and  have  blessing  from  Her  hands ;  not  curs- 
ing, as  thou  hast  had,  Ramanund,  whose  head  should 
still  be  shaven,  whose  touch  unclean  from  the  loss  of  a 
woman." 

The  allusion  to  the  death  of  Ramanund's  wife  roused 
an  instant  murmur  of  assent  from  those  who  were  of  the 
city,  and  they  passing  the  tale  on  to  others,  the  murmur 
swelled  to  a  roar  which  effectively  drowned  the  rest  of 
Ramanund's  advice. 

But  Father  Ninian,  still  at  the  door,  still  uncertain, 
could  hear  a  man  who  had  been  buckling  on  his  pilgrim's 
sandals  as  if  for  a  start,  say,  as  he  stood  up  and  thrust 
them  back  to  his  waistcloth  :  — 

"  Well !  I,  for  one,  go  no  further  without  remission, 
or  the  blood  which  brings  it.  As  jogi^'ee  saith,  no  man 
should  risk  the  woman's  cursing.  No  man  can  hold  his 
own  against  that." 

"  He  hath  a  young  wife  in  his  house,  see  you,  and  all 
know  what  that  means,"  sniggered  a  neighbour. 

But  a  third  voice  broke  in  gravely,  "Young  or  old, 
what  matter .?  Women  sit  ever  on  the  knees  of  the 
Gods,  as  we  men  have  sat  on  theirs,  seeing  they  are  the 
mothers  of  us  all.  So,  mother  or  wife,  we  cannot  escape 
them." 

^'  Baba-jee  speaks  truth,"  assented  another  bystander, 
*' diVid  jogi-jee  also.  If  She  needs  blood,  She  must  have 
it,  seeing  She  is  Woman.  As  for  kim  ?  Let  him  be 
silent.  He  hath  no  God.  No  blood  sacrifice,  no  remis- 
sion of  sins.     Let  him  speak  who  hath  them." 


DAWN  291 

There  was  a  faint  sound  as  of  the  closing  of  a  door, 
and  beyond  it,  in  the  darkness  of  the  arched  passage,  an 
old  voice  said,  with  a  curious  note  of  gladness  in  it, 
**  Follow  me,  quick,  Akbar  ;  there  is  not  a  moment  to 
be  lost.     The  dawn  has  come  !  " 

It  seemed  to  have  come  to  Pidar  Narayan's  face  as  he 
knelt  hurriedly  once  more  beside  the  body  of  the  dead 
girl,  to  fold  her  dead  hands  decently  as  if  in  prayer,  to 
cover  the  dead  feet  with  the  crimson  draperies,  the  dead 
face  with  the  flimsy,  glittering  veil  —  the  veil  which  hid 
nothing  of  its  beauty  —  which  struck  the  keynote  of  the 
whole. 

''  On  whom  be  peace ! "  he  whispered  as  he  rose, 
stretching  out  his  thin  old  hand  in  benediction ;  and  as 
he  said  the  words,  the  vision  came  to  him  of  a  whole 
world  which  had  loved,  and  sinned,  and  gone  on  its 
mysterious  quest  for  something  beyond  love.  A  world 
to  which  he  had  said  farewell  with  a  kiss. 

He  passed  on  to  the  Altar,  and  with  swift,  steady 
hands  opened  the  sanctuary,  and  took  out  the  treasure 
it  contained ;  a  star-shaped,  star-rayed  pyx,  set  with 
jewels,  relic  of  the  days  when  singing-birds  that  sang  of 
themselves,  and  such  like  things,  with  many  another, 
had  come  to  Eshwara  from  Italy. 

''Take  the  candles  from  the  altar,  Akbar,"  he  said, 
*'and  walk  in  front  —  just  in  front,  you  know  —  as  you 
used  to  walk." 

The  old  courtier  mumbled  "  Ge-reeb-pun-zudz,''  with 
a  caper  of  alacrity.  In  his  confusion,  his  resentful 
remorse,  it  was  a  relief  to  return  to  pomp  —  to  ser- 
vility. 

So,  with  that  Bodily  Presence  which,  till  then,  had 
always  brought  the  thought  of  the  lost  paradise  of  a 
woman's  love  with  it,  in  his  hands.  Father  Ninian  and 
his  strange  acolyte,  priest  of  another  cult,  passed  swiftly 
out  of  the  chapel,  leaving  the  Altar  dark,  bereft  of  its 
treasure  ;  leaving  the  dead  woman,  bereft  of  her  treasure 
also,  lying  in  a  glitter  of  gold  and  crimson  on  the  Altar 
steps.     Passed  on  a  mission  of  peace  to  the  living ;  on 


292  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

the  chance  of  gaining  the  ear,  the  eye,  of  that  waiting 
crowd  outside  in  the  courtyard. 

As  he  went  rapidly,  yet  with  the  faltering  step  every 
now  and  again  of  one  wearied  by  long  journeying,  down 
the  arched  passage,  Ninian  Bruce  scarcely  thought  of 
success  or  failure.  There  was  a  wistful  triumph  in  his 
face  —  he  looked  as  a  slave  might  look  who  dies  in  mak- 
ing himself  free.  He  did  not  think  even  of  the  strange- 
ness of  the  little  procession.  The  night  had  been  so  full 
of  strange  things ;  but  the  dawn  had  come,  and  he  had 
a  message  to  give  those  waiting  souls  outside  —  the 
souls  who  were  being  kept  back  from  the  *'  Cradle  of  the 
Gods  "  by  that  fear  of  the  Eternal  Womanhood. 

"Set  the  door  wide,  Akbar,"  he  said,  and  then  his 
voice  merged  into  the  **  Saliitaris!' 

So,  as  the  crowd  turned  at  the  sound  of  the  opening 
door,  the  sound  of  the  chanting  voice,  it  saw,  raised 
above  it,  dim  against  an  arched  shadow,  seen  by  the 
grey  light  of  daybreak  and  the  flicker  of  two  tall  tapers, 
a  strange  star-rayed  cup  shining  in  the  clasped  hands  of 
a  man.  An  old  man  in  a  strange  dress,  chanting  a 
strange  song.  And  the  sight,  by  its  very  strangeness, 
its  claim  to  something  beyond  familiarity,  was  not 
strange  to  that  restless  crowd,  waiting  for  a  sign,  wait- 
ing for  something  not  in  themselves. 

"  What  is  it  >     What  means  it .?  " 

The  whisper  came  like  the  soft  hush  of  a  wave ;  and 
above  it  the  chant  rose  clearly. 

"  'Tis  Pidar  Narayan  and  his  God  !  "  said  those  of  the 
city  who  knew,  as  they  fell  back  instinctively  from  the 
raised  path.  And  those  who  did  not  know  followed  suit 
in  awed  bewilderment,  till  the  way  was  clear,  and  the  little 
procession  passed  on  slowly  above  the  jammed  mass  of 
humanity,  above  the  sea  of  upturned  expectant  faces. 

"  'Tis  Pidar  Narayan,  who  went  with  my  father,"  said 
one  here  and  there.  "Mayhap  he  goes  now  —  let  us 
see." 

"  Yea  !  let  us  see  !  "  answered  others. 

That  slantwise  limb  of  the  union-jack  of  raised  paths 


DA  WN  293 

which  crossed  from  one  corner  to  the  other  of  the 
courtyard  —  from  the  door  in  the  palace  to  the  wide 
archway  through  which  the  pilgrims  always  passed  on 
their  way  to  the  "  Cradle  of  the  Gods  "  —  cleared  itself 
by  common  consent,  edged  itself  with  a  thicker  throng  of 
curious  faces.  Only  in  the  middle  it  was  barred  by  the 
big  old  gun,  by  the  "  Teacher  of  Religion''  as  its  legend 
boasted,  and  by  the  man  who  claimed  to  be  its  mouth- 
piece. 

¥  or  jogi  Gorakh-nath,  recognizing  his  adversary,  rec- 
ognizing the  danger  of  his  influence,  had  slipped  from 
his  post  above,  and  now  stood  before  the  gun,  full  in  the 
path,  defending  it  with  frenzied  wavings  of  his  chaplet 
of  skulls. 

"  Listen  not,  brothers  !  "  he  yelled.  ''Jai  Kali  Ma! 
Blood  !    Blood  !    Without  blood  is  no  remission  of  sins." 

And  now  a  new  curiosity,  a  new  interest,  came  to  that 
crowd  of  mere  men.  What  would  happen  .?  What  would 
these  two,  mere  men  like  themselves,  do }  Which  was 
backed  by  divine  authority  .-*  That  both  claimed  that 
authority  was  clear.  It  held  its  breath,  partly  from  the 
desire  for  a  sign  from  God,  partly  because  of  the  desire 
which  humanity  always  has  for  a  sign  of  the  best  man. 
Let  the  two  try  which  was  the  better. 

So  it  waited,  ready  to  approve  either,  till  those  two, 
the  Eastern  and  the  Western  sacerdotalisms,  met  face  to 
face,  within  two  yards  of  each  other,  in  the  centre  of 
the  courtyard,  on  the  platform  before  the  "  Teacher  of 
Religion^ 

Then,  not  till  then,  Pidar  Narayan  ceased  his  chant, 
shifted  the  pyx  to  his  left  hand,  and  with  his  right  drew 
the  rapier  hidden  till  then  by  his  long  robes. 

*'  Aha,  A-ha-a,''  sighed  the  crowd  approvingly.  There 
would  be  a  bodily  as  well  as  a  spiritual  fight,  for  jogi-jee's 
chaplet  of  skulls  swirled  dangerously  for  both  attack  and 
defence ;  since  a  swinging  blow  from  it  would  kill  a 
man,  and  its  circling  sweep  keep  him  beyond  sword- 
point  reach. 

Which  would  be  the  better  man  —  the  better  weapon  ? 


294  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

But  Pidar  Nardyan  did  not  attack.  He  only  stood, 
the  pyx  in  one  hand,  the  sword  in  the  other  —  alterna- 
tives as  it  were  —  and  called  in  a  loud  voice  — 

"  Let  me  pass,yd?^/  Gorakh-nath  ! 

'*  Let  me  pass  I  say  ! 

''  For  I  carry  my  GOD  !  " 

Over  the  whole  courtyard,  waking  now  from  shadow 
to  light  under  the  coming  day,  the  claim  echoed  sharply ; 
and  the  arrogance  of  it,  the  strength,  the  certainty  of  it, 
sank  deep  into  the  souls  of  those  who  heard  it. 

There  was  not  a  sound,  not  a  movement ;  only  a  vast, 
breathless  expectancy,  and  Pidar  Narayan's  fine  old 
face  set  like  the  nether  mill-stone.  Everything  that 
had  ever  been  in  him  —  love,  passion,  faith,  worldly  wis- 
dom, sympathy  —  the  grit  of  the  whole  man  —  rose  up 
and  claimed  the  crowd. 

"  Let  me  pass  !  "  he  cried  again,  in  absolute  command, 
and  this  time  the  rapier,  twisting  like  a  snake,  caught 
the  chaplet  of  skulls  in  its  upward  swirl,  a  dexterous 
unexpected  turn  of  the  old  fencer's  wrist  followed,  send- 
ing it  flying  from  the jo^-i's  hand. 

The  next  instant  (the  rope  on  which  they  were  strung 
severed  by  the  strain,  by  the  rapier's  edge),  the  skulls 
were  clattering,  bounding  like  balls,  like  useless  toys,  on 
the  stone  platform. 

^^ A-ha !  A-haf'  came  from  the  crowd;  but  the  sigh 
was  but  half  content,  and  men  looked  at  each  other 
wonderingly.  Since,  no  matter  which  priest  was  the 
better  man,  these  were  Mai  Kali's  drinking-cups. 

The  jogi,  however,  had  fallen  back  a  step,  and  Pidar 
Narayan  was  in  his  place  by  the  old  gun.  Pidar  Nara- 
yan  and  his  strange  God  were  now  the  "  Teachers  of 
Religion'^     What  had  they  to  say } 

The  crowd  had  not  to  wait  long,  for  Father  Ninian's 
voice,  with  that  nameless  ring  in  it  which  makes  the 
orator  and  makes  the  audience,  was  already  in  its  ears. 

"  Listen  !  Listen  to  me,  for  I  carry  in  this  cup  the 
Blood  of  Sacrifice.  The  Victim  required  by  your  God 
and  mine,  by  all  the  Gods,  is  here ! 


DA  WN  295 

"We  are  free,  brothers!  you  and  I.  The  Eternal 
Womanhood  hath  had  Her  toll,  in  full.  The  Great 
Mother  is  appeased.     There  is  no  fear. 

**  Lift  up  your  eyes  unto  the  hills,  from  whence  cometh 
your  help,  and  follow  me  and  my  God,  to  find  yours." 

He  pointed  with  the  sword  —  as  he  paused  a  second 
for  breath,  for  strength  —  to  the  mountains  ;  to  those  far 
peaks  which,  now  that  the  storm  had  ended,  the  earth- 
atoms  returned  to  earth,  had  begun  to  show  spectral  in 
the  dawn.  To  show  shadowy,  yet  clear,  with  never  a 
wreath  of  mist  or  a  wandering  cloud  to  hide  the  hollow 
whither  the  feet  of  millions  had  journeyed  seeking 
righteousness,  and  journeyed  in  vain. 

Faint  and  far  they  showed  against  the  faint,  far  sky, 
but  as  Father  Ninian  pointed  to  them,  a  ray  of  light 
from  the  still  unseen  sun  below  the  visible  horizon  of 
this  world,  a  ray  of  light  seeking  perhaps  another  world 
among  the  stars,  found  the  heights  of  the  holy  hills  in 
its  path,  and  dyed  their  snowdrifts  red  —  blood  red  ! 

At  the  sight  a  roar  rose  from  the  crowd. 

^^Jai  Kali  Ma  !  She  gives  a  sign  !  The  sacrifice  is 
there  !  She  is  appeased  !  He  speaks  the  truth.  Let 
us  follow  him  and  his  God  !  " 

**  Ay  !  as  my  father  did,"  cried  one. 

"And  mine!" 

"  And  mine  ! "  assented  some,  while  others  forgot  all 
save  pilgrimage  in  the  shout  — 

"  Ram,  Ram,  Sita  Ram  !  " 

''Hard!     Hdrt !     Hdri !     Hdrd!" 

So,  on  that  babel  of  sounds,  Pidar  Narayan's  voice 
rose  steadily  as,  preceded  by  that  ambling  figure  — 
strangest  of  all  acolytes  —  he  walked  on,  chanting  the 
I2ist  Psalm  :  — 

'''' Levavi oculos  meos  in  monies;  unde  venid  auxilium  mihV* 

The  words  were  in  an  unknown  tongue,  the  rhythm 
strange,  but  the  spirit,  the  idea,  were  familiar.  It  was 
the  song  of  someone  seeking  the  "  Cradle  of  the  Gods," 
as  they  were. 


296  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

"  He  carries  his  God,  and  that  means  all,"  said  an 
old  man,  pushing  his  way  to  follow.  "  The  other  had 
none  :  how  could  he  lead  the  way  ?  " 

"  That  is  true,"  assented  many,  following  suit. 

And  some,  shrugging  their  shoulders,  said,  "He  is 
mad.  God  has  touched  his  brain.  Then  he  goes  the 
way  our  fathers  went.  They  lingered  not  beyond  the 
second  dawn.     Why  should  we.''" 

"  Rdm  !     Ram  !     Sita  Ram  !  " 

Thus,  swiftly,  the  footfalls  gathered  in  strength  behind 
the  little  procession,  and  no  one  dared  to  stop  it ;  not 
even  the  Mahomedan  sentry  at  the  Fort  gate,  to  whom 
some  of  the  agitators  ran  in  their  disappointment.  He 
only  laughed  contemptuously ;  though  his  gravity  re- 
turned somewhat  at  his  recognition  of  old  Akbar  Khan. 

"  Lo  !  that  is  a  new  walking  for  him  !  "  he  muttered, 
in  an  awed  voice.  "Truly,  folk  are  right  when  they 
say  there  is  magic  in  these  idolaters.  Who  would  have 
deemed  him  pilgrim  }  Well !  let  him  go,  he  and  his 
mummery.  We  soldiers  can  do  without  priests  and 
Hindoos!" 

He  twirled  his  mustache  fiercely,  and  wondered  when 
his  comrades  would  return  victorious  from  the  gaol,  and 
give  the  word  for  plunder.     That  was  all  he  cared  for. 

"Ay!"  assented  an  angry  voice,  joining  the  group, 
"  we  can  do  without  the  fools.  There  be  plenty  of  wise 
men  left." 

"Plenty,"  put  in  another  ;  "but  their  mood  is  differ- 
ent.    See  how  they  wander  ! " 

It  was  true.  The  crowd  had  broken  into  groups,  and 
from  these,  pilgrims,  singly,  or  in  smaller  groups,  were 
drifting  after  the  lessening  sound  of  that  chanting 
voice.  Not  so  much  from  any  belief  in  Pidar  Narayan, 
not  even  because  of  his  lead  over,  but  because  it  was 
the  old  way ;  the  way  worn  by  the  feet  of  their  fathers, 
and  their  fathers'  fathers. 

Soy<?^/Gorakh-nath,  who,  now  the  coast  was  clear,  had 
sprung  aloft  on  the  old  gun,  once  more  attempting  to 
regain    his    empire,   failed    egregiously.      The    crowd 


FOILED  297 

passed  him  by  till  a  big  countryman,  with  a  lumbering 
jest,  asked  him  if  he  was  sure  he  had  picked  up  the  right 
skull  to  put  on  his  own  shoulders.  Then  it  laughed 
uproariously. 

"  Best  come  on  to  the  Pool  of  Immortality,"  sug- 
gested a  conspirator,  consolingly,  as  he  hurried  past. 
"'Tis  no  use  here.  The  fools  have  followed  after 
strange  gods  and  men.  But  at  the  Pool  there  are  tens 
of  thousands  to  one  here ;  and  they  are  weary  waiting. 
Besides,  'tis  nearer  the  gaol.  Between  the  two  success 
will  lie." 

"Yea,"  added  another,  "that  was  the  first  plan  — 
the  soldiers  and  the  Fort  spoilt  it.  But  the  Pool  and  the 
gaol  remain." 

Jogi  Gorakh-nath,  with  a  scowl,  gathered  up  his  skulls 
to  a  bundle  and  followed  hastily.  He  would  at  least  be 
out  of  hearing  of  that  chanting  voice. 

It  had  reached  the  last  verse  of  its  Psalm  now,  and 
faltered  a  little  over  the  words :  — 

'"''  Dominus  custodiat  introitum  timm  et  exitum  tuum: 
ex  hoc  ei  usque  171  saeculumy 

But  the  echo  of  the  footsteps  behind  filled  up  the 
blanks. 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

FOILED 

On  the  gaol  or  the  Pool  of  Immortality  lay  the  hopes 
of  those  whom  Pidar  Narayan  had  so  far  discomfited  by 
his  arrogant  claim  to  stand  between  heaven  and  earth ; 
in  other  words,  to  be  in  personal  relations  with  the  Great 
Awarder  of  gaols  and  immortalities,  forgivenesses,  and 
punishments. 

But  the  stars  in  their  courses,  hidden  though  they 
had  been  by  the  storm-darkness,  had  used  that  very 
darkness  to  the  due  maintenance  of  law  and  order  as 
they  wheeled  serenely  to  meet  the  coming  dawn. 


298  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

When  Lance,  for  instance — his  heart  torn  in  twain 
by  his  desire  to  follow  Erda's  fate  at  all  costs  and  his 
knowledge  that,  if  he  was  to  do  the  best  for  others  he 
must  leave  her  to  face  it  alone — had  struck  down  stream 
on  Am-ma's  strange  craft,  his  sole  intention  had  been  to 
rouse  the  police  camp,  and  secure  what  help  he  could 
for  the  gaol. 

But  the  darkness  set  him  another  task.  For,  after 
drifting  past  the  spit,  whence  he  had  meant  to  cut  across 
by  land  to  the  bridge  of  boats,  and  so,  creeping  past  the 
city,  find  the  camp  beyond  it,  he  had  lost  himself  abso- 
lutely in  the  maze  of  sand-banks  and  shallow  channels 
which,  when  the  river  was  low,  as  it  was  now,  lay  like  a 
network  between  the  deep  stream  of  the  Hara,  and  the 
deep  stream  of  the  Hari.  Lost  himself  so  utterly  that, 
realizing  his  own  bewilderment,  he  had  called  himself  a 
fool  for  having  lost  himself! 

A  curious  discouragement  came  to  him.  Yet  it  made 
him  more  dogged  and  persistent,  even  while  the  hope- 
lessness of  finding  his  way  grew  every  second.  Surely, 
thought  he,  he  could  not  be  such  a  fool  as  to  fail ! 

Sometimes  a  sudden  belief  that  he  really  had  had  some 
faint  indication  of  his  bearings  would  make  him  put  all 
his  young  strength  into  the  paddle,  until  once  more  a 
soft,  yielding,  yet  irresistible,  impact  came  to  tell  him 
that  he  had  failed  again,  that  he  was  on  another  sand- 
bank, and  another,  and  another!  The  dull  concussion 
of  them  seemed  to  pass  into  his  brain;  he  found  himself 
fumbling  on  almost  aimlessly,  despite  his  doggedness, 
his  mind  busy  with  imagining  the  things  which  might 
be  happening  in  the  dark  around  him. 

For  all  he  knew  close  by  — 

There  lay  the  sting  !  It  was  suffocating  to  be  set,  as  it 
were,  in  the  solid  darkness  like  —  he  thought  of  a  fly  in 
amber,  the  birds  he  had  limed  in  his  boyhood,  finally  of 
a  death  mask.  That  was  more  like  it  —  he  felt  as  the 
corpse  must  feel  —  clogged,  hampered,  helpless! 

In  such  conditions  minutes  seem  hours  ;  and  Lance,  in 
reality,  had  not  been  drifting  about  for  half  of  one  before 


FOILED  299 

the  certainty  that  his  mission  must  inevitably  be  useless 
unless  he  could  fulfil  it  more  expeditiously,  made  him 
resolve  on  trying  conclusions  with  the  river  at  first  hand. 
He  was  a  good  swimmer.  As  he  told  himself  this,  the 
first  pulse  of  gratitude  he  had  ever  felt  for  the  big  bully 
who  had  chucked  him,  a  small  boy  in  his  first  term  at 
Harrow,  into  *'  Ducker  "  to  take  his  chance,  came  to  him  ; 
for  those  few  minutes  of  despairing  effort  had  taught 
him  more  than  mere  swimming ;  they  had  taught  him 
to  trust  himself  in  water. 

More,  at  any  rate,  than  in  a  beastly  contrivance  made 
of  beds  and  footballs,  with  no  stem,  no  stern,  and  a 
devilish  habit  of  spinning  in  every  eddy  like  a  teetotum  ! 

The  mere  condemnation  of  Am-ma's  craft,  being  a 
prelude  to  better  things,  raised  his  spirits.  He  flung 
off  his  clothes,  and,  knowing  he  could  not  hope  to  keep 
his  revolver  dry,  improvised  a  waistcloth  out  of  the 
silk  sash  he  wore  instead  of  a  waistcoat,  in  which  to 
stick  the  hunting-knife  that  was  his  only  other  weapon. 
As  he  did  so,  he  thought  of  the  deer  the  knife  had  killed  ; 
as  men  think  idly,  irrelevantly,  of  such  trivialities  when 
their  attention  is  really  concentrated  on  something  that 
is,  as  yet,  outside  experience.  And  Lance,  as  he  slipped 
into  the  water,  knew  himself  prepared  to  swim  or  wade, 
but  knew  nothing  else. 

So,  doggedly  as  before,  and  infinitely  quicker,  he  went 
on  through  the  darkness ;  sometimes  feeling  himself  in 
the  cool  water,  sometimes  finding  his  feet  on  warm 
sand,  sometimes  parting  a  way,  he  knew  not  where, 
through  the  low  tamarisk  and  high  grass  marking  an 
island.  If  he  could  have  guessed  which  island,  or  even 
known  which  way  his  face  was  set,  these  light  swishing 
touches  might  have  been  guides  ;  but  he  knew  nothing. 

Until,  after  a  time,  a  faint  far  glow,  a  mere  suspicion 
of  something  not  outer  darkness,  showed  on  his  left. 
Even  so,  he  could  not  guess  whether  that  meant  the 
gaol  side,  or  the  city  side  of  the  rivers.  If  the  former, 
could  the  gaol  have  been  fired  by  those  devils  .? 

The  thought  made  him  set  his  teeth,  and,  dry  sand 


300  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

being  beneath  his  feet,  run  on  recklessly  towards  the 
glow. 

Only  for  a  yard  or  two,  however ;  then  he  pulled  up 
short,  amazed  to  find  that  it  was  not  far,  but  near;  that 
it  came  from  the  ground,  from  a  leaping  fire  of  tamarisk 
branches  within  a  stone's  throw  of  him.  A  step  or  two 
more,  in  fact,  showed  him  a  cooking-pot,  the  remains  of 
some  food,  a  familiar  fishing-net,  and  a  chrysalis-looking 
figure  wrapped  in  a  blanket  and  half-buried  in  the  sand. 
One  of  the  fisher  folk,  by  all  that  was  lucky  !  If  anyone 
could  tell,  they  could. 

It  was  only  a  slender  stem  of  tiger-grass  which 
snapped  under  his  feet,  but  the  noise  was  sufficient. 
The  sleeper  sprang  to  his  like  a  wild  animal,  the 
blanket  falling  from  him,  one  lithe  arm  making  for  the 
long  spear  stuck  in  the  sand  beside  him. 

Gu-gu !     The  missing  Gu-gu  ! 

Lance  had  him  back  in  his  sand-bed  before  hand  and 
spear  met.  There  was  no  struggle.  Gu-gu,  knowing 
himself  helpless,  lay  limp,  slack,  every  muscle  proclaim- 
ing capitulation ;  in  so  far  showing  himself  something 
less  than  a  wild  animal,  which  struggles  till  it  dies,  reck- 
less of  odds.  But,  in  truth,  Gu-gu,  with  the  certainty  of 
speedy  extinction  before  him,  due  to  that  cursed  ghost, 
had  given  in  to  fate  utterly,  all  round.  Death  would 
come  when  it  came.  All  that  remained,  therefore,  was 
to  make  others  suffer  if  he  could.  Especially  those 
who  were  responsible  for  altering  the  currents  of  the 
river.  With  one  of  these  on  top  of  you,  this  was  im- 
possible ;  but  time  might  bring  opportunity. 

''You  devil !  "  cried  Lance,  throttling  the  abject  jelly 
by  way  of  emphasis,  "  you  know  all  about  this  business, 
of  course  ;  but  now  I've  found  you,  you'll  have  to  do 
mine,  —  or  I'll  kill  you.  Do  you  understand  .-^  Now, 
which  way  is  the  town .?" 

Gu-gu  pointed  in  the  direction  whence  Lance  had 
come.  The  latter  frowned,  realizing  that  it  was  im- 
possible to  know  if  the  brute  spoke  truth,  but  that, 
unfortunately,  he  must  be  trusted. 


FOILED  301 

"Then  get  up,"  he  said  curtly,  taking  care  to  keep 
the.  jelly  within  reach  of  his  knife,  "and  show  me  the 
way  there.  I'll  give  you  a  hundred  rupees  if  you  do ; 
and  if  you  don't  — "  He  gave  the  yielding  flesh  an 
explanatory  prick. 

"  Does  the  Hiizoor  mean  the  Pool  of  Immortality } " 
asked  Gu-gu,  affably ;  and  the  words  made  Lance  re- 
member that  fruitless  waiting  for  the  water. 

"  Ah  !  you  did  manage  that  swindle,  did  you  }  "  he  re- 
plied savagely,  "and  of  course  you  were  camping  out 
of  the  way.  I  see  !  No  !  I  don't  want  to  go  there  yet. 
To  the  bridge  !  So  quick,  march  !  or  swim  ;  you  can  tell 
me  about  the  other  as  we  go  along.     It  may  be  useful." 

Another  prick  with  the  knife  he  held  in  one  hand, 
while  his  other  clutched  firmly  on  Gu-gu's  hemp-strung 
waist-belt  of  blue  beads,  started  them.  So  they  went 
on  till  the  sand  grew  colder,  less  resistant,  changed  to 
water  beneath  their  feet ;  then  Lance's  two  hands  —  and 
the  knife  —  came  down  on  Gu-gu's  bare  back.  "  Strike 
out,"  he  said  briefly;  "I'll  help." 

The  two  pair  of  legs  and  the  one  pair  of  hands  forged 
ahead  into  the  darkness  none  the  less  rapidly  because 
the  second  pair  of  hands  were  resting, — with  some- 
thing in  them  —  on  yielding  flesh.  The  fact  indeed,  or 
something  else,  seemed  to  make  Gu-gu  confidential.  If 
the  Huzoor,  he  said,  with  a  shameless  comprehension 
which  made  Lance  inclined  to  use  the  knife  then  and 
there,  wanted  to  give  the  alarm  at  the  police  camp,  he 
was  taking  a  long  road  to  it.  He,  Gu-gu,  could  show 
him  a  shorter,  if  the  Huzoor  would  trust  him. 

For  a  second  Lance  hesitated.  He  could  not  see  the 
man's  face  ;  but  there  was  a  sort  of  cunning  anxiety  in 
the  tone  which  was  doubtful.  Then,  remembering  that, 
short  or  long,  he  was  equally  at  the  man's  mercy  if  he 
chose  to  brave  restdts  —  though  there  seemed  to  be  no 
reason  why  he  should  —  he  said  quietly,  — 

"  I  told  you  to  take  the  shortest." 

"  The  Huzoor  can  dive  .? "  asked  Gu-gu.  "  He  should, 
since  he  swims  so  strong." 


302  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

"  Dive  !  "  echoed  Lance.     "  Yes,  why  ? " 

Because  the  short  way,  Gu-gu  explained,  was  by 
an  underground  passage  which  could  be  only  reached 
from  the  river.  Undoubtedly  the  Huzoor  was  right, 
the  passage  had  to  do  with  the  miracle ;  but  there  must 
have  been  more  than  one  miracle  in  the  old  days,  since 
there  was  quite  a  network  of  canals  and  caves,  which 
could  be  more  or  less  flooded  at  will.  All  the  river 
people  knew  of  them,  but  few  ventured  in  ;  there  was 
nothing  to  be  gained  by  doing  so,  as  a  rule!  And  the 
dive  to  reach  the  passage  was  long  and  awkward.  But 
if  the  Htizoor  would  trust  — 

"  Go  ahead  !  "  broke  in  Lance,  sharply.  He  had  to 
trust  ;  and  time  meant  everything.  Besides,  even  in 
diving,  he  could  have  his  revenge  on  that  sleek,  yielding 
back! 

For  answer,  Gu-gu  altered  his  course  with  almost 
suspicious  alacrity ;  though,  once  more,  Lance  could 
see  no  reason  for  treachery.  A  hundred  rupees  was  a 
big  bribe  to  a  man  who  evidently  had  no  personal  in- 
terest in  the  matter ;  else,  why  should  he  have  been  on 
the  island  instead  of  in  the  row.  But  then  Lance  did 
not  know  of  that  call  to  death. 

So,  through  the  dark,  the  one  pair  of  hands  and  two 
pairs  of  legs  forged  ahead  till  a  sudden  arrest  of  the 
former  gave  Lance  a  dull  shock  once  more.  But  this 
time  Gu-gu's  voice  came  quite  cheerfully :  "  The  city  wall, 
Huzoor!     This  slave  must  feel  if  he  goes  up  or  down." 

Apparently  it  was  up,  and  after  a  few  minutes  of  crab- 
like edging  Gu-gu's  voice  came  again  :  — 

"The  tunnel  is  below.  Protector  of  the  Poor.  Let 
the  most  noble  take  the  longest  breath  he  ever  breathed, 
then  strike  down  till  this  mean  one's  legs  cease  moving. 
The  most  noble  one's  must  cease  also.  The  rest  will 
this  dust-like  one  accomplish.  Save  the  breath.  TJiat 
is  in  the  Huzoot^s  own  keeping.  Therefore  let  him  take 
time  for  filling ;  and  when  he  is  ready  let  him  signal  this 
slave  with  —  with  a  knife-prick  if  he  chooses  !  " 

The  cool  grasp  of  the  position  made  Lance  smile, 


FOILED  303 

though  the  situation,  he  knew,  was  grave  enough.  That 
breath  to  be  drawn  might  be  his  last ;  all  the  more  reason 
why  he  could  have  wished  it  less  full  of  sand  ! 

For  the  storm  was  now  at  its  fiercest.  Even  here 
out  on  the  river,  over  the  water,  the  air  seemed  solid. 
And  it  had  a  vibration  that  could  be  felt  on  the  bare 
skin.  As  he  drew  in  that  long  breath  before  trusting 
himself  to  the  unseen  man  whom  he  held  within  reach 
of  the  grim  signal  —  and  something  sharper  should  there 
be  sign  of  treachery — Lance  told  himself  that  the  water 
could  scarcely  be  more  suffocating  than  the  air.  Then 
—  the  sleek  skin  under  his  hand  shrinking  from  the 
knife-prick  —  the  two  pairs  of  legs  and  the  one  pair  of 
arms  struck  down. 

It  was  almost  a  relief  at  first  to  get  rid  of  the  stinging 
dust  in  one's  face  ;  almost  a  relief  not  to  breathe.  But 
when,  after  a  few  seconds,  the  legs  in  front  of  him  grew 
rigid,  and  nothing  was  left  to  to  be  done  save  to  hold  on 
desperately  to  a  waist-belt  of  blue  beads  and  one's  own 
breath  at  the  same  time,  the  sense  of  suffocation  re- 
turned, and  the  question,  "  How  much  longer  t  "  seemed 
to  throb  in  his  brain. 

He  gripped  everything  he  had  to  grip  tighter.  But 
his  own  body  seemed  to  grip  his  mind  tighter  still.  He 
could  feel  the  clutch  of  his  veins  —  a  whole  corded  net- 
work of  them  —  could  see  them  !  A  corded,  pulsing 
network  edged  with  prismatic  light,  sending  stars  into 
the  darkness,  beating  time  to  the  singing  in  his  ears,  to 
the  fierce  duel  between  the  desire  to  gasp  and  the  deter- 
mination to  hold  on, — beating  time  to  the  confused  rush 
of  thoughts  which  ended  in  one  —  "  This  is  drowning  !  " 

It  made  his  clutch  tighter.  Gu-gu,  at  least,  should 
drown  too.  That  was  the  last  conscious  thought.  It 
merged  into  a  frantic,  insistent  clamour  for  air  !  air  !  air  ! 
till  something  cold  hit  him  full  on  the  face  and  forced 
him  into  a  quick,  gasping  cry,  that  left  him  senseless. 

When  he  came  to  himself,  as  he  did  a  moment  or  two 
afterwards,  he  was  still  clutching  the  waist-belt  of  blue 
beads,  and  the  touch  of   it  lulled  him  to  an  instant's 


304  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

sheer  relief.  The  dive  was  over ;  they  must  be  in  the 
cave ;  the  cold  that  had  hit  him  in  the  face  must  have 
been  the  air. 

But  what  was  he  lying  upon }  Surely  rock  !  And 
the  hand  he  moved  to  feel  it  brought  the  blue  beads 
with  it  unresistingly, 

Gu-gu  !  where  was  Gu-gu  t 

Gone  !  And  the  knife  too.  It  had  been  used  to  sever 
the  hempen  string  of  the  belt. 

Curious.  It  might  have  been  used  for  a  different  and 
more  deadly  purpose;  but  you  could  never  count  on 
what  fellows  would  do  —  even  when  they  were  treach- 
erous. 

Lance  thought  this  dreamily,  before  he  realized  more 
than  the  fact  that  he  was  alive ;  not  drowned. 

Then  he  sat  up  hastily  and  faced  the  truth  that  he 
was  alone  once  more ;  alone  in  that  network  of  under- 
ground passages  and  caves  of  which  Gu-gu  had  spoken. 

Was  there  any  chance  of  his  getting  out  of  it }  Not  by 
the  dive,  certainly.  Without  help  that  was  impossible. 
He  set  himself  to  remember  what  his  guide  had  said  in 
reply  to  the  questions  with  which  he  had  been  purposely 
plied. 

First,  as  to  light.  If  Gu-gu  was  to  be  trusted  the 
materials  for  this  must  be  close  at  hand.  Lance  rose 
cautiously  and  felt  about  the  ledge  on  which  he  lay  and 
the  walls  of  rock  about  him,  and  ere  long  came  on  what 
he  sought.  Flint  and  steel,  a  box  of  tinder,  a  bottle  of 
oil,  and  a  rag  torch  hung  in  an  old  bit  of  fishing-net  to  a 
peg  that  was  driven  into  a  crevice. 

So  far,  good  ;  and  after  a  minute  these  enabled  him  to 
see  that  he  was  in  a  sort  of  vaulted  well,  half  hewn  out 
of  rock,  half  built  in  with  brick.  It  was  filled  to  some 
three  feet  or  so  with  water,  except  in  one  corner,  where 
the  flooring  shelved  down  to  an  archway.  There  it  was 
peeper.  This  must  be  the  opening  of  the  tunnel  through 
which  they  had  dived,  and  through  which,  doubtless, 
Gu-gu  had  escaped ;  for  he  was  not  likely  to  have 
braved  the  intricate   passages  without   a  light.     This 


FOILED  305 

thought  made  Lance  look  to  see  how  much  oil  the 
bottle  contained. 

There  was  only  a  mere  driblet  at  the  bottom.  Plainly, 
therefore,  he  could  pause  no  longer ;  so,  instantly,  with- 
out further  thought,  he  waded  across  the  pool  and  ran 
along  the  only  passage  which  led  from  it.  He  had  to 
stoop  as  he  ran,  and  from  the  feel  to  his  feet  he  guessed 
that  the  passage  led  upwards  first,  then  downwards ; 
apparently,  too,  in  a  perfectly  straight  line.  The  river, 
therefore,  must  be  behind  him,  and  he  tried  to  make  this 
point  a  fixed  one,  so  as  to  give  him  some  notion  of  his 
bearings. 

After  a  hundred  yards  or  so  he  emerged  into  a  second 
cave  or  chamber,  also  nearly  waist-deep  in  water.  From 
this  several  passages  opened,  some  too  small  to  admit  of 
a  man  passing  through  them.  These,  then,  must  be  the 
canals  of  which  Gu-gu  had  spoken ;  one  of  them,  pos- 
sibly, that  which  should  have  supplied  the  Pool  with 
Immortality.  The  memory  of  that  crowd  of  eager, 
patient  faces,  disappointed  by  such  a  miserable  trick, 
made  Lance  feel  pitiful  ;  then  his  pity  brought  a  sudden 
practical  suggestion.  Why  not  open  the  sluice,  or  what- 
ever it  was,  now,  and  give  the  miracle }  It  would  at 
least  keep  some  of  the  crew  quiet  when  it  came,  at 
dawn  ;  the  dawn  which  might  be  so  fatal  to  quiet  —  the 
dawn  which  must,  surely,  be  close  at  hand. 

He  raised  the  torch  and  saw,  close  beside  him,  a  foot 
or  two  above  the  present  level  of  the  water,  a  clumsy 
closed  stone  conduit  with  an  iron  handle.  It  was  a  rude 
primitive  tap,  no  doubt,  by  which  the  levels  could  be 
raised.  Without  further  thought,  he  turned  it,  and 
smiled  to  find  himself  right,  as  water  poured  out,  filling 
the  vaulted  chamber  with  sound.  Then,  without 
further  pause,  he  passed  on  down  the  biggest  of  the 
passages  leading  from  the  chamber ;  since  that  seemed 
the  most  likely  one.  After  a  while,  however,  the  pas- 
sage narrowed,  seemed  in  danger  of  ending  altogether ; 
so  he  harked  back. 

There  was  no  longer  any  sound  in  the  chamber  when 


306  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

he  returned  to  it,  and  the  level  of  the  water  had  risen 
almost  to  the  floor  of  the  passage  in  which  he  stood, 
wondering  which  of  the  other  outlets  he  had  best  try. 
The  choice  was  a  case  of  sheer  chance,  of  course,  he 
told  himself ;  a  mere  backing  of  one's  luck.  But,  as  he 
paused  to  make  it,  something  cold  struck  on  his  feet, 
causing  him  to  look  down  in  sudden  surprise. 

The  water  was  still  rising.  That  must  be  stopped, 
anyhow,  unless  he  was  to  be  drowned  out  like  a  sewer 
rat. 

He  stuck  the  torch  into  a  cleft  in  the  rock  beside  him, 
hung  the  net  to  it,  and  swam  over  to  the  conduit,  which 
was  already  submerged.  But  the  handle  which  had 
turned  so  easily  was  stiff  now ;  possibly  because  of  the 
pressure  of  the  water,  possibly  because  there  was  some 
other  rude  mechanism  of  which  he  was  unaware.  Any- 
how, after  a  few  trials  he  realized  that  he  was  helpless 
until  the  water  had  found  its  own  level. 

But  what  was  that  1  Who  could  tell }  Would  it  rise, 
and  rise,  and  rise,  till  it  filled  the  whole  place } 

Who  could  tell } 

It  was  not  fear  which  clutched  at  his  heart  —  only  a 
vague  self-pity  ;  almost  an  amused  wonder  that  this 
Immortality  for  others  might  bring  Death  to  him. 

He  looked  up  into  the  vaulted  arch  above  him, 
then  to  the,  as  yet,  dry  passages  which  he  could  just 
see,  as  darker  arches  of  shadow. 

Unless  one  of  them  rose  abruptly  to  a  higher  level  — 
and  the  chance  that  one  did,  or  that  he  should  find  it, 
was  remote  —  he  would  be  wiser  to  stay  here,  and  see 
what  happened.     The  roof  was  at  least  higher. 

He  swam  back  to  the  torch  and,  holding  on  to  the 
crevices  of  the  wall,  waited. 

Still  rising.  He  shifted  the  torch  to  a  higher  crevice 
and  waited  again,  a  dull  curiosity  taking  possession  of 
him. 

Still  rising.  He  wondered,  suddenly,  whether  it 
would  not  have  been  better  for  him  to  have  gone  back 
the   way  he   had   come.      The   passage   had   certainly 


FOILED 


307 


seemed  to  ascend,  and  it  was  a  question  of  levels.  That 
was  all.     A  mere  question  of  levels. 

He  shifted  the  torch  again.  It  was  dying  down  now, 
the  rags  showing  charred,  cindery.  But  as  he  fed  it 
with  oil  and  it  flared  up  and  smoked,  the  thought  came 
to  him  that  it  was  using  air  needlessly,  making  suffoca- 
tion more  imminent. 

He  blew  it  out  deliberately.  If  a  man  had  to  die,  he 
might  as  well  die  in  the  dark.  He  was  glad,  a  moment 
later,  of  the  darkness.  It  shut  out  reality  and  left  him 
to  dreams ;  to  vague  hopes,  to  kindly  forgetfulness,  to 
Erda's  face.  How  plucky  she  had  been  !  Well !  even 
if  he  had  to  be  drowned  like  a  rat  in  a  sewer,  he  must 
not  be  behind  her.  The  pathetic  comfort  of  kindly 
memory,  which  with  strange  unreason  —  since  it  en- 
hances the  value  of  the  life  that  is  being  left  —  makes 
the  face  of  death  seem  less  stern  to  poor  humanity, 
came  to  him  and  absorbed  him.  If  he  died  and  she  lived, 
she  would  not  forget  him  ;  he  knew  that. 

And  still  the  water  rose. 

It  must  be  rising  now,  he  thought,  in  the  Pool  of  Im- 
mortahty,  and  the  eager,  patient  faces  that  had  been 
waiting  for  it  so  long  must  be  showing  glad  in  the  grey 
light  of  the  dawn. 

For  the  dawn  was  coming  to  the  world,  though  he 
would  not  see  it.  Strange,  incomprehensible  thought, 
even  though  the  reality  of  it  was  so  certain,  so  close. 
Incomprehensible  }  Say  rather,  impossible  ;  frankly  im- 
possible !     He  could  not  be  going  to  die  ! 

He  shifted  the  unlit  torch  to  a  still  higher  crevice  — 
almost  a  ledge  in  the  rock  —  and  waited  incredulously 
for  the  water  to  rise. 

And  as  he  waited  in  the  dark,  someone  else  in  the 
grey  dawn,  to  whom  death  was  more  familiar,  to  whom, 
in  a  way,  it  was  the  one  great  certainty  of  Life,  was  feel- 
ing the  same  frank  incredulity  at  the  thought  of  the 
immediate  future. 

For  Dr.  Dillon,  when  he  found  himself  alone  on  the 


308  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

roof  of  the  gaol  gate  with  an  unconscious  woman  and  a 
child,  knew  that  the  end  could  not  be  far  off.  With 
Vincent  dead,  and  Eugene  cut  off  by  the  stern  necessity 
for  keeping  that  door  shut,  he  could  not  hope  for  more 
than  a  brief,  savage  resistance  —  and  then?  Failure,  in- 
evitable failure,  unless  help  came ;  and  that  seemed  far 
as  ever. 

As  yet,  dazed  by  that  closing  of  the  door,  that  desper- 
ate, triumphant  death  of  the  man  with  his  back  to  it  — 
a  death  which  had  gained  them  nothing  —  the  prisoners 
were  still  huddled  together,  crushed  out  of  further  action, 
at  the  far  end  of  the  alley.  So  the  courtyard  was  clear, 
free  from  assailants.  But  that  could  only  be  for  a  min- 
ute or  two.  There  was  an  ominous  rending  and  hewing 
at  the  gate  below  ;  ere  long  those  outside  would  be  inside, 
and  with  a  leader  who  would  know  what  to  do.  So  life 
could  only  be  an  affair  of  moments  ;  yet  it  seemed  incredi- 
ble, more  than  incredible,  that  all  his  strong  will  and 
determination  would  not  avail  even  to  save  those  help- 
less creatures  in  his  charge.  He  stooped  hurriedly  and 
lifted  the  still  unconscious  woman  in  his  arms,  carried 
her  into  the  turret,  closed  the  door  on  her  and  the  child 
—  frightened  now  for  the  first  time  at  her  mother's 
silence  —  and  returned  to  wait  and  watch.  It  was  all 
he  could  do  for  them,  unless  fate  gave  him  a  chance  of 
appealing  for  them  to  Roshan  Khan.  But  even  then 
there  could  be  no  bargaining,  no  compromise,  no  sur- 
render ! 

A  sharp  crash,  a  sudden  rise  in  the  babel  of  voices 
below,  warned  him  that  the  gate  had  given,  partially  at 
least.  The  next  instant  a  soldier  or  two,  ignorant  of 
that  dead  man  with  his  back  against  the  closed  gate,  ran 
lightly  down  the  alley  calling  on  the  prisoners  to  make 
way.  One  of  them  was  Roshan  Khdn  ;  but  George  Dil- 
lon did  not  waste  a  cartridge  even  on  him.  He  was  re- 
serving his  fire  for  that  storming  of  the  broken  stairs 
which  must  come  when  the  assailants  found  themselves 
still  foiled. 

In  truth  Roshan  Khan  had  this  same  storming  in  his 


FOILED 


309 


mind  as  all  he  cared  for,  since  it  would  pit  him  against 
his  rival,  against  Vincent  Bering,  who  he  knew  was  on 
the  roof.  And  so,  with  that  odd  acquired  sense  of 
honour,  fair  play,  God  knows  what,  he  had  been  plan- 
ning, as  his  men  battered  down  the  gate,  how  best  to 
compass  those  fair  odds  which  were  necessary  alike  to 
his  sense  of  justice  and  injustice — -for  the  injustice 
of  his  own  position  cried  aloud  for  proof  that  he  was 
worth  a  better  one.  So  he  had  settled  to  complete  that 
liberating  of  the  prisoners  which,  with  the  help  of  the 
keys,  ought  already  to  be  in  hand.  This  done,  the  gen- 
eral rabble  would  be  eager  for  freedom,  eager  for  plun- 
der, eager  to  get  to  the  town  and  raise  it,  eager  for  all 
things  for  which  he  cared  no  jot.  Then  would  be  his 
time.  Then — he  did  not  even  try  to  formulate  how  —  he 
could  find  himself  face  to  face,  at  fair  odds,  with  Vincent 
Dering.  Wild  memories  of  duels  he  had  read  about  in 
western  books,  duels  with  others,  who  had  nothing  to  do 
with  the  quarrel,  looking  on,  occurred  to  him. 

Yes !  that  would  satisfy  him.    To  have  it  out,  till  death ! 

He  set  his  teeth  as  he  forced  a  peremptory  way 
through  the  crowd  at  the  end  of  the  alley,  which  hid 
the  closed  door  until  one  actually  stood  beside  it. 

Then  he  stood  transfixed,  for  he  saw  Vincent  Bering's 
dead  body  still  backed  by  that  closed  door,  still  guard- 
ing it,  unarmed.  There  was  a  curious  look  of  content 
in  the  dead  face,  and  Roshan,  grasping  its  meaning  by 
intuition,  turned  from  it  with  a  curse,  knowing  himself 
forestalled,  cheated. 

"'Twas  not  our  fault,  Khdn-jeey'  protested  a  voice, 
quickly  ;  **the  swine  fought  till  the  other  one  had  locked 
the  door  in  our  faces,  and  so  —  " 

Roshan  struck  at  the  voice  fiercely.  Not  forestalled, 
not  cheated,  only ;  but  outdone,  conquered  !  His  rival 
had  died  a  hero's  death,  and  he  —  he  might  live  to  be 
hanged ! 

A  rage  of  despair,  of  despite,  seized  on  him.  His  one 
real  object  gone,  the  whole  hideous  folly  of  the  rest  made 
him  fling  up  his  hands  passionately  as  he  dashed  back 


3IO  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

to  the  gate,  neither  knowing  nor  caring  what  he  was  go- 
ing to  do  next. 

Storm  that  feeble  garrison  on  the  roof  ?  those  broken 
stairs,  every  crevice,  every  foothold  in  which  stood  out 
clear,  easy,  in  the  light  of  the  search-ray  ?  Was  that  a 
man's  task  ? 

Confused,  dazed,  he  ran  on,  followed  instinctively  by 
the  crowd,  wondering  what  he  would  be  at. 

George  Dillon,  seeing  the  rush,  covered  the  first  foot- 
hold of  the  broken  stairs  with  his  rifle,  and  waited  for 
a  man  to  show  on  it. 

But  none  came. 

Just  as  the  rush  reached  the  courtyard,  Eugene  Smith's 
search-ray,  having  exhausted  itself,  went  out,  leaving, 
not  darkness,  but  the  grey  mystery  of  dawn,  in  which 
for  an  instant  all  sound,  all  movement,  seemed  arrested. 
There  was  one  utterly  peaceful  second,  and  then,  from 
behind  the  splintered  gateway,  from  the  shadows  of  the 
tunnel,  came  a  breathless  voice  :  — 

"  Close  the  outer  gate,  sergeant ;  if  you  can,  you  have 
them  in  a  trap  !  a  regular  trap  !  " 

A  trap! 

The  word  reached  those  who  had  followed  Roshan 
in  his  causeless  retreat.  Had  he  foreseen  this.''  Was 
he  escaping  from  the  trap }  Their  eyes  flew  to  the 
tunnel,  but  the  light  which,  till  then,  had  lit  up  its  dark- 
ness, the  swinging  lamp  by  which  the  batterers  of  the 
gate  had  worked,  was  dashed  down  by  someone's  hand 
—  a  small,  white  hand  —  and  there  was  nothing  to  be 
seen.  Only  that  voice  to  be  heard  repeating,  "They're 
in  a  trap ;  keep  them  there  !  " 

Keep  them  !  Not  if  they  could  fight  their  way  into 
the  open  !     The  cry  rose  in  a  second  :  — 

"  A  trap.  Yea  !  a  trap  !  Out  of  it !  Outside,  brothers, 
outside,  where  we  can  fight  free ! " 

Roshan,  who  would  have  paused  at  this  chance  of 
fair  resistance,  was  caught  in  the  rush  from  behind,  and 
found  himself  through  the  gap  in  the  gate  fighting  des- 
perately in  the  crowd,  calling  on  his  men  to  rally.     But 


V  ADDIO  DEL   MARITO  31I 

they  had  construed  his  half-frenzied  flight  from  that  look 
on  Vincent  Bering's  face  into  a  lead,  and  they  were 
mixed  up  inextricably  with  the  horde  of  undisciplined 
conspirators  who,  having  been  till  now  safe  under  cover 
of  the  tunnelled  archway,  yelled  for  the  open,  not  so 
much  in  which  to  fight,  but  in  which  to  run  away. 

The  mere  handful  of  men,  whose  number  was  fortu- 
nately hidden  by  the  darkness,  could  never  have  pre- 
vented the  rush,  but  a  quick  wit  amongst  them  seized 
on  a  possibility,  and  the  breathless  voice  called,  **Let 
them  pass  —  let  them  pass  !  " 

So,  in  a  second  or  two,  amid  confused  yells,  and  mad 
slashings  at  friends  and  foes  alike,  the  positions  were 
reversed.  The  inside  was  out,  the  outside  in,  like 
Brian  O'Lynn's  breeches ;  and  Dr.  Dillon's  first  hint  at 
what  the  amazing  turn  of  affairs  below  him  meant  came 
with  the  words  :  — 

"  Barricade  that  gate.  Sharp  as  you  know  how. 
They  won't  give  us  long." 

*'  Is  that  you,  Carlyon  ? "  he  called  doubtfully,  leaning 
over  the  parapet  and  peering  into  that  grey  mystery  of 
dawn. 

The  figure  he  saw,  a  woman  in  a  white  dress  and  a 
scarlet  mess  jacket,  made  him  doubt  the  evidence  of  his 
own  eyes.  But  the  answer  in  a  woman's  voice,  with  a 
quick  breath  in  it,  sent  his  back  in  something  between 
a  laugh  and  a  sob. 

**  Then  he  isn't  here !  Oh !  what  can  have  become 
of  him } " 

There  was  no  doubt  that  this  was  a  woman ! 


CHAPTER   XXVII 

l'  ADDIO   DEL    MARITO 

Once  outside,  where  they  could  discern  friend  from 
foe,  the  troopers  instantly  realized  their  mistake,  and 
rallied  round  Roshan. 


312  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

But  it  was  too  late  for  that  now.  As  he  stood,  cen- 
tring them,  there  was  a  wild  contempt,  a  vague  relief, 
in  his  face.  He  knew  now  where  his  sympathies  lay. 
Not  with  these  men,  treacherous  to  their  salt,  but  with 
those  who  could  hold  —  who  had  held  —  their  own 
against  all  odds.  Yes  !  even  with  that  dead  figure,  still 
with  its  back  to  the  door  that  must  not  be  opened. 

The  thought  stung  and  seared  like  hot  iron. 

No!  Not  with  that!  not  with  that!  That  was  — 
What.?  — 

He  could  have  killed  himself  for  the  unwavering  testi- 
mony which  every  scrap  of  him  gave  to  the  heroism, 
the  defiance  of  such  a  death.  He  knew  he  would  give 
everything  to  die  one  like  it ;  and  he  knew  he  could 
not  —  not  now.  He  knew  he  must  die  a  useless  death, 
to  save  himself  from  a  worse  one. 

**  There  is  no  real  harm  done,  Khdn-jee^''  broke  in  his 
IdiViCQ-duffadar  in  hurried  excuse,  seeing  the  expression 
on  his  face.  *'  We  can  get  in  easily  again.  Those  hold- 
ing the  horses  say  there  were  but  a  score  of  them  all 
told  —  the  cursed  Sikhs  —  God  knows  how  they  got  out 
of  the  Fort !  I  thought  we  had  them  safe.  And  there 
was  a  woman  with  them — a  Miss-baba'' — he  laughed 
savagely.  ''Well !  if  they  be  brave  as  men,  these  infidel 
women,  let  them  die  like  men  —  the  hell-cats! " 

Roshan  Khan  looked  at  the  man,  whom  he  had  known 
for  years,  as  if  he  had  never  seen  him  before.  And  the 
thought  of  another  woman  — with  his  own  blood  in  her 
veins  —  who  had  been  brave  also,  and  who  had  died  — 
died  by  his  hand  —  returned  to  sweep  him  from  every 
bearing,  from  every  landmark,  eastern  or  western,  and 
leave  him  rudderless,  drifting,  in  a  storm  of  sheer  de- 
spair. He  laughed  suddenly  —  an  insane  laugh  —  at  the 
hideousness,  the  hopelessness  of  it  all.  Laughed  like  the 
madman  he  was  for  the  time,  at  the  horror  which  drove 
him  mad. 

**  Kill  her,  if  thou  wilt,  fool !  I  have  done  my  share 
of  that,"  he  cried  brutally,  striking  out  at  the  voice  as 
he  had  struck  at  the  other  which  had  told  him  of  Vin- 


D  ADDIO  DEL  MARITO  313 

cent's  victory.  Striking  as  he  felt  inclined  to  strike  at 
anything  and  everything ;  most  of  all  at  the  hateful  con- 
fusion in  himself,  and  in  his  world.  So,  without  another 
word,  he  broke  through  the  circle  of  troopers,  dashed  to 
where  his  horse  awaited  him,  and  was  off  like  a  whirl- 
wind ;  that  strange  possession  of  the  Oriental  races, 
which,  in  a  way,  claims  kindred  with  the  Berserk  rage 
of  the  north,  thrilling  to  his  finger-tips ;  yet  held  in 
check,  diverted  from  sheer,  mad,  uncalculating  desire  to 
kill,  by  that  acquired  sense  of  fair  play. 

"He  goes  to  rouse  the  city,"  said  some  of  his  men, 
following  him  hurriedly. 

"And  time,  too  !  "  assented  some  of  the  conspirators. 
**  The  dawn  is  upon  us,  and  if  the  pilgrims  drift  away, 
our  hope  is  gone  !  " 

But  most  of  the  crowd,  troopers  and  conspirators  alike, 
felt  vaguely  that  the  dawn  had  indeed  come,  that  the 
midsummer  night's  dream  of  madness  was  over;  that 
those  who  were  wise  would  try,  while  they  had  the 
chance,  to  escape  from  its  consequences. 

And  that  such  a  chance  existed,  even  now,  was 
patent.  The  very  madness  of  the  night,  its  lack  of 
reasonable  explanation,  were  in  their  favour.  And  its 
darkness,  the  outer  darkness  of  the  storm,  which  had 
sprung  up  in  a  minute,  must  have  hidden  much.  Who, 
for  instance,  was  to  say  —  except  those  impenitent  ones 
whose  evidence,  if  given  at  all,  must  be  doubted  as  the 
evidence  of  condemned  men  seeking  to  drag  others  down 
to  their  fate — whether  such  and  such  a  one  had  been  a 
rebel  at  first }  Provided,  always,  that  there  was  no 
doubt  about  his  staunchness  at  the  last ;  that  is,  now 
that  the  dawn  had  come  —  the  dawn  which  showed 
doubt,  almost  a  surprise,  in  so  many  faces. 

What  had  come  to  them  }     Why  were  they  there } 

"  Kuckck  saiya  pur  gya  ! ''  (some  shadow  fell  on  me) 
muttered  one  man  below  his  breath,  as  he  sheathed  his 
sword. 

And  another,  with  an  oath,  said  boldly,  "This  one 
is  for  the  winning  side,"  then  gave  the  cry,  "To  the 


314  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

rescue,  brothers,  to  the  rescue !  Cut  down  the  muti- 
neers " —  so,  promptly,  began  operations  on  the  nearest 
defenceless  prisoner. 

Thus,  almost  before  those  who  had  galloped  in  hot 
haste  after  Roshan's  lead  were  out  of  sight,  the  pris- 
oners, even  the  resisting  warders,  had  been  driven  into 
the  portico,  and  penned  like  a  flock  of  sheep  between 
the  troopers  outside  and  the  pioneers  within. 

"The  Lord  is  King,"  said  the  \dincQ-diiffadary  piously, 
to  a  neighbour,  —  he  had  started  back  from  Roshan's 
blow  with  a  scowl,  and  watched  his  retreat  resentfully,  — 
"  the  Handle-end  of  His  Sword  is  safest !  Lo  !  Have 
at  them,  brothers!"  —  he  added  aloud  —  ''have  at  the 
evil-born  ones  who  would  have  killed  the  menis  and  the 
baba-logiie  as  such  scum  did  in  the  Great  Breathing, 
making  the  faces  of  the  soldiery  black  for  all  time  ! 
Show  them  our  mettle.  Forward!  'Gord  —  save  —  the 
—  Ka-veen!'" 

"  Gord  —  save  —  the  —  Ka-veen  !  " 

The  cry  grew  to  a  shout,  and  Dr.  Dillon,  who,  with 
a  great  incredulity  lessening  the  values  of  all  he  saw 
and  heard,  had  promptly  swung  himself  down  into  the 
courtyard,  looked  through  a  crevice  in  the  barricade  — 
which  was  fast  taking  form  under  the  willing  hands  of 
the  pioneers  —  to  see  what  the  noise  meant. 

"It  is  all  over,"  he  said  slowly,  his  face  pathetic  in 
its  bewilderment ;  "  the  troopers  are  siding  with  us ! " 

He  stood  for  a  moment  as  if  unable  to  grasp  the  reality, 
and  his  keen,  inquisitive  eyes  seemed  to  search  almost 
reproachfully  for  some  cause,  some  hint  of  reason,  in  his 
surroundings.  In  the  splintered  door,  in  every  cranny 
and  foothold  of  the  broken  stair,  and  so,  past  the  para- 
pet, they  continued  their  question  to  the  lightening  sky, 
against  which,  faint  and  far,  those  distant  peaks  where 
lay  the  "  Cradle  of  the  Gods  "  had  begun  to  show  dimly. 

"  All  for  nothing ! "  he  muttered  to  himself,  almost 
petulantly.  "  Poor  Dering !  "  So,  swiftly  he  passed 
down  the  alley,  —  swiftly,  but  hopelessly ;  for  he  knew 
what  those  iron  shackles  meant  on  a  man's  bare  head. 


n  ADDIO  DEL  MARITO  315 

He  drew  the  body  to  one  side  with  tender  care,  then 
knocked  at  the  closed  door  and  called  to  the  man  within. 
"Smith,  open  the  door!  You'd  better  come  out  —  I 
think  it's  all  over  now ;  be  quick,  please." 

There  was  a  pause,  then  a  fumbling  at  the  bolts  and 
bars.  So,  in  that  grey,  cold  light,  a  figure  stood  at  the 
open  door,  tall,  gaunt,  with  a  hunted  look  in  its  eyes, 
almost  a  terror,  as  they  looked  down  —  down  to  the 
threshold  —  down  for  what  they  knew  should  be  there. 

"  Bering  }  "  asked  Eugene  Smith,  rather  hoarsely  ; 
then,  seeing  what  lay  to  one  side,  covered  his  eyes 
from  the  sight  with  a  cry  like  a  woman's,  and  trembled 
all  over.  That  strain  of  patient,  idle  inaction  had  been 
awful. 

**  Oh,  God  damn  them  !  "  burst  out  the  doctor,  fiercely. 
"  And  all  for  nothing  —  for  nothing.  At  least  I  think  so. 
Come  on.  Smith,  and  make  sure." 

For  nothing  !     For  nothing  ! 

The  words  were  echoing  in  Roshan's  brain  also,  as 
with  loose  rein,  recklessly,  he  galloped  over  the  frail 
bridge  of  boats,  making  it  quiver  and  thunder  beneath 
his  horse's  hoofs,  and  send  curved  waves  of  light  and 
shadow  over  the  clear,  steely  surface  of  the  water,  seen 
like  a  polished  shield  in  the  dawn.  The  air  was  clear 
also ;  the  distant  hills  steel  grey  as  the  water,  the  sky 
steel  grey  as  the  hills.  And  there  was  the  bright  keen- 
ness as  of  a  glittering  sword  in  the  chill  breeze  that 
swept  from  west  to  east.  But  Roshan  did  not  feel 
it ;  he  was  absorbed  in  himself,  in  the  useless  battle 
of  his  life. 

For  nothing  !     For  nothing  ! 

He  did  not  even  hear  the  soft  yet  sonorous  roar,  be- 
ginning like  the  rush  of  a  big  breaker  on  a  beach,  end- 
ing with  a  wild,  musical  note,  like  the  wail  of  new-weaned 
lambs  and  their  mothers  on  a  lone  hillside,  which  sud- 
denly echoed  out  over  the  water,  making  those  who 
galloped  behind  look  at  each  other  and  whisper  joy- 
fully:— 

'Tis  all   right,   Khdn-sahiby'   said  one,  urging  his 


« '' 


3l6  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

horse  alongside;  "the  pilgrims  are  waiting  still  —  hear 
you  not  their  cry  ?     They  grow  impatient !  " 

Roshan  looked  at  him  with  lack-lustre  eyes.  What 
were  the  pilgrims  to  him,  or  their  impatience  ?  What 
was  salvation,  immortality,  to  one  whose  only  desire 
was  death  —  death  and  forgetfulness  ?  He  dug  his  spurs 
into  his  horse,  savagely  glad  to  give  pain,  and  rode  on. 

''Hard!     Hdrt  I     Hart!     Hdrd  T' 

The  roar  was  articulate  now,  and  those  behind  looked 
doubtfully  at  each  other. 

"If  it  should  be  the  miracle.'*"  suggested  one  con- 
spirator ;  but  another  shook  his  head,  "  How  can  that 
be  ?  None  know  the  trick  save  those  two,  Gu-gu  and 
Am-ma,  and  they  are  safe." 

"  Unless  it  be  a  miracle,"  put  in  a  third,  almost  timidly. 
"  God's  club  makes  no  noise,  and  the  night  has  been  full 
of  marvels." 

So  an  uneasy  silence  fell  upon  the  rest. 

''Hdrd!     Hdrt!     Hdrt!     Hdrd!'' 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  cry  now.  It  rose  exult- 
ant, yet  with  that  wailing  note  in  it  still,  which  lingers 
always  in  humanity's  claim  to  have  found  its  lost  Para- 
dise, its  lost  purity. 

Yet  there  was  no  trace  of  doubt  in  the  almost  frantic 
joy  on  every  face  in  the  dense  multitude  which  stopped 
the  little  cavalcade,  as  it  entered  the  square  around  the 
Pool  of  Immortality ;  stopped  it  hopelessly,  as  if  the 
moving,  breathing,  living  mass  had  been  a  dead  wall. 

''Hdrd!     Hdrt!     Hdrt!     Hdrd!'' 

It  was  almost  a  yell.  The  patience  was  gone  utterly, 
and  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  in  all  the  wide  square, 
in  every  street  and  alley  converging  to  it,  there  was 
the  restless  ineffectual  movement  of  the  sea,  when,  on 
a  summer's  day,  it  beats  itself  calmly  yet  persistently  — 
rising  and  falling  —  upon  a  sheer  cliff,  against  the  impos- 
sible. There  was  no  one  to  check  the  crowd  now,  to 
prevent  it  from  finding  Death  and  Immortality  at  the 
same  time.  What  matter }  What  were  a  few  hundreds 
of  crushed  bodies,  when  the  soul  found  what  it  sought  .•* 


D  ADDIO  DEL  MARITO  317 

The  riders  behind  Roshan  threw  up  their  hands  at 
the  sight.  No  hope  here  for  the  littlenesses  of  life ; 
for  principalities  and  powers,  even  for  political  liberty. 

This  was  the  bed-rock ;  this,  in  its  unalterable  aspira- 
tion—  not  for  something  better,  but  for  the  best  — 
neither  culture  n-or  conspiracy  could  touch  ;  this  was 
as  much  beyond  the  control  of  kith  and  kin  as  of 
strangers  and  aliens. 

"Come,  Khdn-sahib  !''  they  called  to  the  figure  with 
the  lack-lustre  eyes  which  sat  its  horse  like  a  statue, 
staring  at  itself,  at  its  world,  conscious  only  of  the  hid- 
eous discords  which  were,  perforce,  the  music  of  its 
sphere.  "  Come  !  Nawab-jee  !  There  is  still  a  chance 
with  the  '  Teacher  of  Religion.^  The  jogi  will  have 
held  his  folk,  for  sure.  They  will  be  ready  for  blood, 
since  Mai  Kali"  —  the  speaker  spat  his  Mahomedan 
contempt  for  the  idolatry  ere  he  went  on  —  "  lets  none 
go.     She's  a  true  woman  for  that !  " 

So,  by  back  alleys  and  crooked  ways,  Roshan — why 
he  did  not  know,  since  he  meant  nothing  by  it  —  led  the 
cavalcade  past  the  palace,  through  the  archway  into  the 
courtyard  with  its  union-jack  of  raised  paths. 

And  found  it  empty. 

Empty  of  all  save  the  jogi,  Gorakh-nith,  who  was 
busy,  resignedly,  in  rethreading  his  chaplet  of  skulls,  ere 
starting  to  seek  safety  over  the  British  border  in  some 
far  recess  of  the  holy  hills,  whence,  when  this  affair  had 
blown  over,  he  could  swoop  down  with  added  sanctity 
on  some  other  religious  fair. 

"  He  and  his  God  stole  them  from  me  not  the  saying 
of  a  rosary  past,"  he  said  cheerfully,  after  he  had  ex- 
plained the  position.  "  They  went  by  yonder  door  to 
the  old  road.  So  what  matter !  They  are  in  it.  They 
will  come  back  to  Her  by  and  by.  It  is  so  always.  Men 
follow  other  leads,  other  loves.  But  they  do  not  find 
what  they  seek  ;  so  they  come  back  to  Her,  to  the  many 
named  Woman.    Jai  !     Kali  Ma  !  " 

Those  behind  Roshan  looked  at  each  other. 

"  It  is  the  end,"  they  said  briefly.    "  Come,  risaldar- 


3l8  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

jee  —  "  the  change  of  title  was  significant  —  "we  shall 
have  to  ride  far  and  fast  if  we  are  to  live." 

Once  more,  every  atom  of  the  man,  soul  and  body, 
seemed  to  strike  out  furiously  at  the  voice,  at  the  truth 
and  the  untruth  in  it ;  at  the  assertion  of  failure,  the  link- 
ing of  his  need  with  theirs. 

"  Ride  for  your  lives  if  you  want  them,"  he  cried 
fiercely  ;  "  I  seek  death." 

They  left  him,  after  unavailing  protests,  and  rode  hel- 
ter-skelter on  to  the  Fort,  warning  their  comrades  that 
the  game  was  up,  so,  on  towards  safety.  And  the  jogi^ 
naked  but  not  ashamed,  still  swinging  his  chaplet  of 
skulls,  followed  them  leisurely;  for  he  knew  himself  safe 
in  the  superstition  and  the  devotion  of  every  woman  in 
India.  Since  he.  Her  servant,  could  not  fail  of  shelter  in 
every  Hindoo  homestead,  far  or  near,  in  which  a  woman's 
hand  closed  on  a  man's,  holding  him  tight  for  herself 
alone,  as  the  Great  Mother  holds  all  men. 

Roshan,  thus  left  alone,  rode  his  horse  on  slowly  to 
the  central  plinth,  dismounted,  and,  hitching  the  bridle 
over  the  muzzle  of  the  "  Teacher  of  Religion^'  stood  star- 
ing out  dully  at  what  lay  before  him ;  so  quiet,  so  com- 
monplace ! 

Nothing  changed  from  the  day,  barely  a  month  ago, 
when  he  had  stood  beside  the  old  gun  with  Vincent  Ber- 
ing and  Lance  Carlyon,  contemptuous  of  the  ignorance 
of  others,  satisfied  with  himself. 

And  now  1  —  what  had  come  to  him  } 

The  madness,  which  his  wild  gallop  from  the  gaol  had 
calmed  somewhat,  returned  in  a  fierce  rush,  and  with  it 
that  one  desire  for  revenge;  for  something  by  which  to 
show  the  contempt,  which  was  not  now  merely  for  the 
ignorant ;  but  for  those  others,  self-righteous,  tyrannical, 
who  had  dared  to  touch  him  —  dared  to  make  him  what 
he  was — a  prey  both  to  ignorance  and  wisdom,  savagery 
and  culture  —  a  laughing-stock  even  to  himself! 

And  who  had  begun  the  fooling  .'*  Who  had  taught 
him  as  a  boy } 

Pidar  Nardyan !     Who  else }     Who  else  had  begun 


V  ADDIO  DEL  MARITO  319 

the  game  giving  some  things,  withholding  others  ?  And 
who  else  was  within  reach?  Who  else  could  be  followed 
up  and  forced  to  fair  fight  ?  Forced  to  admit  that  the 
pupil  was  ahead  now  of  the  master. 

He  laughed  a  laugh  of  absolute  exultation  ;  and  a 
wave  of  purely  childish  satisfaction  swept  through  the 
mind  in  which  there  were  still  so  many  depths  of  child- 
ish ignorance  and  misconception ;  unavoidable  depths  in 
the  culture  of  a  bare  score  of  years.  Leaving  his  horse 
tethered  to  the  old  gun,  he  ran  hastily  across  to  the  pal- 
ace, so,  finding  the  door  open,  the  whole  place  quiet, 
went  on  down  the  arched  passage.  It  was  still  dark 
there,  but  a  glimmer  of  light  showed  the  entrance  to  the 
chapel,  and  to  the  armoury  beside  it,  which  was  his 
goal. 

He  had  no  other  thought  except  for  that  armoury,  un- 
til, with  the  tall  tapers  burning  at  the  head  and  feet,  he 
saw  the  dead  body  of  the  woman  who  had  deceived  him 
lying  on  the  Altar  steps.  Then  the  pitifullest  clashing 
of  satisfaction  and  despair,  of  desire  and  disgust,  came 
to  him  that  ever  rent  a  man  in  twain.  For  a  moment 
he  fought  for  bare  reason  between  them,  then  with  a 
savage  cry,  he  flung  himself  beside  the  dead  girl,  caught 
her  to  him,  covered  her  with  frantic,  cruel  kisses,  and, 
almost  flinging  her  from  him  again,  ran  on  into  the  ar- 
moury, the  red  of  her  dress,  her  bosom,  in  his  eyes  — 
the  red  of  blood  ! 

The  armoury !  Where  he  had  had  his  first  lesson  in  the 
foils !  There  they  were,  harmless  in  their  buttons, 
crossed  on  the  wall,  and  above  them  something  more 
murderous ;  the  dangerous  delicate  rapiers  to  which 
those  others  were  but  the  prelude.  No  !  one  was  gone ! 
One  Father  Ninian  had  used  against  \.\\q  jogi!  One 
he  must  have  with  him.     So  much  the  better ! 

He  tore  down  its  fellow,  and  passing  the  dead  girl 
without  a  look,  dashed  out  into  the  courtyard  again,  his 
last  trace  of  sanity  gone. 

The  next  instant  his  horse's  feet  were  echoing  madly 
along   the   pilgrims'    road.       His    enemy  must  have  a 


320  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

quarter  of  an  hour's  lead,  but  that  was  nothing ;  he  could 
overtake  him,  anyhow,  at  the  first  station  in  the  pilgrim- 
age, —  a  temple  under  a  vast  banyan  tree  at  the  foot  of 
the  first  rise,  where  the  pious  must  pause  to  make 
offerings. 

The  road  was  almost  empty  at  first ;  for  the  news  that 
the  miracle  had  only  been  deferred  had  spread  instantly 
through  the  unrestful  town,  so  to  a  space  beyond  it, 
making  those  who  heard  the  tale  turn  back  to  see  for 
themselves.  But  after  a  few  minutes'  wild  gallop,  he 
came  up  with  those  who  had  been  beyond  recall,  who 
had  gone  on  content  with  that  strange  lead  of  a  strange 
God  ;  of  a  saint,  a  sinner.  Yet,  after  a  time,  forgetful 
of  that  leadership  utterly.  For  they  needed  it  no  more. 
The  danger  of  novelty  had  passed  with  their  first  step 
along  the  beaten  track  which  their  fathers  had  followed. 
Father  Ninian,  wise  with  the  wisdom  of  long  years,  of 
secret  sympathy,  had  known  this ;  had  counted  on  it  in 
his  forlorn  hope  of  leading  them  into  familiar  bondage. 
He  had  told  himself  that  he  need  only  go  as  far  as  that 
first  station ;  that  then,  during  the  pause  for  offerings, 
he  might  return,  as  it  were,  to  realities,  to  something 
more  consistent  with  the  nineteenth  century !  But  to 
him,  also,  as  he  led  the  way,  chanting  his  offices  for  the 
day,  had  come  a  strange  peace,  a  strange  desire  to 
go  on  to  the  end  of  the  pilgrimage ;  a  strange  desire 
to  leave  those  realities  behind  him  in  a  world  from 
which  he  was  taking  nothing,  not  even  his  love. 

Surely  it  was  time.  Surely  he  was  old  enough  to  claim 
rest.  No  !  not  rest.  It  was  something  more  than  that. 
Surely,  now  that  he  had  left  every  atom  of  earth  behind 
him  lying  with  a  dead  woman  on  the  Altar  steps,  he  also 
was  free  to  find  the  "  Cradle  of  the  Gods  "  ! 

^^ My  soul  fleeth  unto  the  Lord!  before  the  morning 
watch  I  say,  before  the  morning  watch,''  he  chanted  ;  he 
had  gone  on  blindly  from  psalm  to  psalm  intent  on  the 
desire  to  lead  those  voices  behind. 

"Have  a  care,  baba-jee !  thou  and  thy  God!"  said  a 
half-tender,  half-jesting  one  as  he  stumbled  among  the 


n  ADD  10  DEL  MARITO  321 

Stones,  and  a  dark  hand  stretched  itself  out  to  steady 
the  old  priest,  and  a  dark  face  turned  to  nod  approval 
at  other  saffron  robes ;  since  here  was  a  true  pilgrim,  a 
true  madman,  forgetful  of  this  world,  to  judge  by  the  face 
lifted  towards  those  distant  hills. 

Yet  the  desire  in  him  to  reach  them  seemed  to  the 
wise  old  heart  something  that  must  be  set  aside.  He 
must  return.  Yes!  he  must  return.  To  do  what.? 
What  could  an  old  man  do  who  had  left  life,  a  useless 
life,  behind  him }  He  crushed  down  that  thought  also, 
and  stumbled  on. 

^^  Man  is  like  a  thing  of  nought ^  his  time  passe th  away 
like  a  shadow  !  " 

His  voice  spent  itself  tremulously  on  that  one  cer- 
tainty, and  those  behind  him  joined  their  testimony  to 
his  all  unwittingly,  as  they  called  on  Hard  or  Hdri ;  on 
the  Creator,  the  Destroyer,  as  One  and  Indivisible. 

And  in  the  rear  again,  Roshan  in  his  search  for  Death, 
for  annihilation,  bore  witness  also,  as  he  came,  cursing 
those  who  stood  in  his  way,  his  horse  slithering  among 
the  stones  in  its  effort  to  obey  whip  and  spur,  and  send- 
ing a  dry  clangour  of  hoof -beats  through  the  little  stony 
valley  to  startle  the  sleepy  snakes  coiled  on  the  distant 
rocks,  and  drive  them  back  to  their  crannies  with  a 
hiss. 

So,  every  instant,  the  distance  lessened  between  the 
old  man  and  the  young  one,  both  weary  of  life.  It  was 
broad  daylight  now,  though  the  sun  was  still  low  on  the 
horizon.  The  mystery  of  dawn  had  left  the  world,  the 
very  pilgrims,  between  their  recurring  cries,  were  chat- 
tering, laughing,  over  the  every-day  details  of  life  which 
would  make  to-day  as  trivial  as  yesterday,  to-morrow  as 
trivial  as  to-day. 

There  had  been  a  "  Breathing  "  in  the  night,  they  told 
each  other.  Some  shadow  had  fallen.  Some  God  or 
Devil  had  had  power.  But  the  shackles  of  custom,  of 
familiarity,  were  back  again,  the  despotism  of  detail. 

Only  in  those  two  strangely  different  minds  in  the 
van,  in  the  rear,  the  mystery  still  clouded  the  reality. 


322  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

And  the  distance  between  them  lessened  as  Roshan 
drove  his  way  through  the  saffron  robes  recklessly. 

Yet,  fast  as  he  went,  when  he  reached  the  end  of  the 
dry  watercourse  up  which  the  last  part  of  the  rough 
track  had  wound,  and  stood  in  the  hollow,  backed  by 
a  further  rise  of  the  hill,  where  the  quaint,  dumpy, 
black  temple  hid  itself  under  the  huge  blotch  of  the 
banyan  tree  —  the  only  green  thing  visible,  far  or  near 
—  the  figure  he  sought  was  not  to  be  seen  among  the 
crowd. 

Akbar  Khan,  indeed,  he  saw,  utilizing  one  of  the 
tall  tapers  as  a  pipe-light  before  casting  himself  on  the 
ground  to  suck  contentedly  at  the  screwed  banyan  leaf 
full  of  tobacco  which  he  had  gathered  by  claiming  a 
pinch  in  return  for  the  loan  of  that  same  light  to 
others.  But  with  a  curious  shame  Roshan  avoided 
him,  and  passed  on  in  his  search  among  the  jostling 
crowd,  the  continuous  babel  of  trivial  talk ;  for  this  was 
resting-time,  when  men  and  women  could  be  men  and 
women,  and  forget  that  they  were  on  a  pilgrimage ; 
when  they  could  even  dream  themselves  back  in  the 
village  under  the  familiar  shelter  of  some  village  tree, 
asking  no  more  than  the  familiar  round  of  life. 

But  above  the  babel  came  every  now  and  again  the 
insistent  clang  of  a  bell,  telling  that  some  new  peti- 
tioner was  seeking  a  favour  of  the  Gods,  and  making 
a  golden  oriole,  which  sat  in  the  green  leafage,  flit  to 
another  bower  with  a  sudden  fluting  note,  full,  joyful, 
mellow. 

'*What  dost  seek,  Musulmdnf  cavilled  a  saint, 
drawing  back  from  Roshan's  shadow,  as  he  gabbled 
invocations,  all  he  knew,  on  a  rosary,  ere  solacing 
himself  with  the  pipe  which  his  disciple  had  prepared. 
"If  'tis  the  madman  and  his  God  —  he  hath  gone 
yonder." 

He  pointed  to  a  side  track,  which  was  a  short  cut  to 
the  road  above. 

Roshan  flung  himself  from  his  horse  without  a  word, 
and  followed. 


Z'  ADD  10  DEL  MARITO  323 

The  distance  lessened  at  every  step  now,  for  the  old 
priest's  breath  failed  him  at  the  steepness  of  the  rise. 

Still,  it  would  not  delay  him  long,  he  told  himself,  to 
take  that  one  look  at  the  soft,  white  cloud  which  gen- 
erally hid  the  goal  of  pilgrimage,  before  he  turned  back 
over  the  hill,  as  best  he  could,  to  find  what  task 
remained  for  him  in  the  world. 

He  might  have  that  one  look,  surely ! 

So,  reaching  the  summit  of  this  first  bulwark  of  the 
unattainable,  he  sat  down,  breathlessly,  beside  an 
upright  black  stone  which  showed  strangely  distinct 
amid  the  redness  of  the  surrounding  rock ;  a  plain 
black  stone,  not  three  feet  high,  chipped  rudely  to  a 
blunt  point.  Father  Ninian  did  not  need  the  scattering 
of  dead  marigolds  and  dry  basil  leaves  about  its  base 
to  tell  him  that  it  was  a  fragment  of  an  older  faith  than 
that  of  the  temple  below  ;  a  faith  sterner,  purer,  founded 
on  a  clearer  perception  of  what  humanity  needed  in  that 
search  for  the  lost  Paradise ;  on  a  closer  memory  of  the 
cause  which  lost  it. 

He  laid  one  hand  on  the  stone  almost  caressingly,  as, 
holding  the  pyx  in  the  other,  he  sat  down  facing  the 
distant  peaks.  But  there  was  no  cloud  upon  them. 
The  day  had  dawned  clear  and  still,  and  as  he  sat  looking 
wistfully  over  the  valleys  on  valleys,  the  hills  on  hills, 
which  lay  bathed  in  light  between  him  and  the  "  Cradle 
of  the  Gods,"  a  sunbeam — still  slanting  from  the  curved 
edge  of  the  eastern  plains  —  caught  the  jewelled  star  of 
what  he  held,  and  stayed  there. 

It  was  peaceful  beyond  words.  The  hurry,  the  strain, 
not  only  of  that  long  eventful  night,  but  of  the  whole  long 
eventful  life,  seemed  over.  All  things  seemed  behind 
him.  The  passion,  the  pride,  the  courage,  the  manhood 
—  all  things  that  had  made  Ninian  Bruce  what  Ninian 
Bruce  had  been  —  where  were  they } 

Only  wisdom,  only  a  tender  knowledge,  seemed  to 
remain. 

The  clank  of  steel  upon  stone  roused  him,  the  clank 
of  Roshan's  spurs  upon  the  rocks ;  and  Father  Ninian 


324  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

turned  to  see  him,  a  yard  or  two  on  the  path  below, 
outlined  clearly  against  the  distant  view  of  Eshwara, 
against  the  world  in  which  Ninian  Bruce  had  lived  and 
loved — the  Ninian  Bruce  whom  he  had  left  behind. 

Behind ! 

No !  It  was  Ninian  Bruce  and  none  other  who  was 
on  his  feet  in  a  second,  a  flush  on  his  face  —  the  face  that 
was  like  the  nether  mill-stone  in  its  stern  passion,  and 
pride,  and  power.  For,  in  a  second,  the  old  man's  soul 
was  back  in  a  world  where  a  dead  woman  belonging  to 
him  lay  waiting  for  revenge.  His  hand  was  on  his 
hidden  rapier,  as  he  flung  his  first  word  of  defiance  at 
the  man  who  had  killed  her. 

"Murderer!" 

"Your  pupil  at  that,  even!"  gasped  Roshan,  "you 
began  it! — your  pupil  whom  you  taught  —  curse 
you  —  " 

The  words  failed  him  —  he  paused  inarticulate  —  but 
the  keen  eyes  and  ears  opposite  him  took  in  his  meaning 
with  the  swift  comprehension  which  had  been  Pidar 
Narayan's  always.  A  sort  of  contemptuous  pity  fought 
with  the  passion  of  Ninian  Bruce's  face. 

"  My  pupil,  certainly,"  he  assented.  "  Have  you  come 
to  ask  me  for  a  final  lesson  }  " 

Roshan  glared  at  him.  "You  understand  —  you 
always  did  —  that  is  the  worst.  Yes  !  I  have  come  "  — 
here  he  laughed  wildly  —  "  for  what  you  taught  me  — 
fair  play  and  no  favour  —  and  I  mean  to  have  it."  In 
his  fierce  excitement  he  pressed  closer,  flourishing  his 
rapier. 

"  Pardon  me,"  came  a  cold,  courteous  voice ;  "  I  did 
not  teach  you  that  method  of  assassination,  surely }  I 
thought  you  desired  fair  play.  If  so,  you  might  allow 
me  to  meet  you  on  equal  terms." 

Roshan  drew  back  with  a  flush  from  the  figure  which 
had  stood  its  ground,  which  looked  at  him  with  bitter 
disdain.  He  scarcely  seemed  to  recognize  it.  No 
wonder !  For  this  was  Ninian  Bruce  himself.  Ninian 
Bruce  as  he  might  have  spoken  to  an  over-hasty  antago- 


n  ADDIO  DEL  MARITO  325 

nist  in  the  days  when  he  was  the  most  reckless  swords- 
man in  Rome,  when  the  world  held  him  body  and  soul. 

The  years,  his  very  priesthood,  had  slipped  from  him. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir  !  "  muttered  Roshan,  standing 
aside.  There  was  a  savage  satisfaction  in  his  heart. 
This  man  was  not  old,  the  odds  were  equal ;  there  was 
enough  fire  and  passion  here  to  please  any  opponent. 

So,  after  a  pause  to  lay  aside  the  pyx  —  it  found  a 
strange  resting-place  on  the  blunt  summit  of  that  up- 
right black  stone  —  a  slim,  still  elegant  figure,  divested 
of  its  priestly  robings,  took  its  stand,  its  back  to  the 
hills,  its  face  to  the  world. 

Still  upright,  still  active,  with  its  black  soutane  caught 
up  and  tucked  into  the  sash  to  give  free  play  to  its  limbs. 

*'  Now,  sir,"  came  the  courteous  voice,  "  I  am  ready." 

Something  in  the  proud  grace  of  bearing,  the  reckless 
contempt,  made  Roshan  follow  suit. 

"The  sun  will  be  in  your  eyes,"  he  said,  ''let  us  fight 
lengthwise  to  the  ridge." 

"  We  will —  by  and  by ! "  came  that  icy  voice,  as 
the  speaker,  without  moving,  stood  on  guard.  "  We  can 
omit  the  salute.     If  you  are  ready,  I  am." 

For  an  instant  Roshan  hesitated,  realizing  what  the 
life  that  he  meant  to  take  had  been,  what  the  man  him- 
self whom  he  meant  to  kill  had  been  and  was.  The  man 
whose  figure  stood  out  like  a  black  shadow  against  the 
distant  blue  of  the  hills  ;  and  as  he  realized  the  fine  fibre 
of  his  enemy,  a  sense  of  powerlessness  to  touch,  to  harm 
him,  kept  Roshan  motionless. 

"Shall  I  count  five,  and  give  you  a  start.?"  The 
question  came  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders. 

The  taunt  told.  Roshan  pulled  himself  together,  and 
stood  on  guard  also.  But  the  sense  of  powerlessness 
was  intolerable ;  he  lowered  his  rapier  for  a  word  more 
—  a  word  to  raise  his  own  self-esteem. 

"I  warn  you,"  he  said  haughtily,  "that  the  sun  is  in 
your  eyes.  That  I  have  learnt  more  than  you  ever 
taught  me  —  that  this  is  to  the  death." 

"  It  could  scarcely  be  anything  else,  could  it } "  came 


326  THE  HOSTS   OF   THE  LORD 

the  instant  reply,  in  a  voice  that  vibrated  harshly,  like  a 
harpstring  struck  to  its  fullest,  ''with  a  dead  woman  be- 
tween us  !  Engage,  you  devil,  or  I  will  kill  you  as  you 
stand ! " 

Roshan  gave  a  short,  sharp  cry,  like  a  wild  beast. 
The  next  instant  the  curious  hiss  of  two  meeting  blades 
sliding  along  each  other  was  the  only  sound.  It  is  a 
strange  sound,  which,  to  the  listeners,  the  onlookers, 
seems  to  say  "  hush  "  to  the  whole  world. 

"  Hush  —  hush  —  j-^  —  shr 

Then,  short  and  sharp  as  that  cry  of  Roshan's,  came 
another  sound  ;  the  beaten,  baffled  clash  when  steel 
meets  steel  instead  of  flesh. 

Roshan,  with  an  inward  curse,  gripped  his  rapier 
closer.  He  had  almost  been  disarmed,  —  disarmed  in 
that  first  encounter.  Strange  that  he  should  have  for- 
gotten his  foe, — forgotten  the  deadly  insistence  of  the 
master's  blade,  slack  as  a  snake  in  curves,  firm  as  a  vice 
in  grip.  Then  that  almost  invisible  turn  of  the  wrist 
which  had  so  nearly  done  for  him.  He  had  forgotten 
these,  in  years  of  meaner  adversaries.  He  remembered 
them  now,  and  would  not  forget  again.  And  he  had 
such  things  ;  ay !  and  more,  in  reserve  for  himself. 

So  had  his  master;  in  reserve  for  both  of  them,  if 
needful.  And  the  knowledge  that  it  would  ho.  needful 
came  to  Ninian  Bruce  at  the  first  touch  of  his  adver- 
sary's swcrd  ;  for  there  was  that  in  it  which  told  the  old 
hand  that  the  young  one  was  a  master's  also. 

"  My  pupil  has  improved,"  he  said  quietly,  as,  aban- 
doning the  attack,  he  parried  Roshan's  furious  onslaught 
with  scarcely  a  motion  of  the  hand,  held  level  to  his  heart. 

That  he  could  do.  But  the  other  must  surely  come 
in  the  end,  since  he  was  old,  and  Roshan  young.  If  in 
the  end,  therefore,  why  not  now  .?    The  sooner  the  better. 

A  minute  after  the  sun  was  no  longer  in  Pidar  Nar^- 
yan's  eyes.  As  he  had  said,  they  were  fighting  length- 
wise to  the  ridg^ ;  and  he  drew  back,  choosing  his 
ground,  until  under  his  feet  he  felt  the  dead  marigolds, 
the  withered  basil  leaves  that  lay  about  the  upright 


n  ADDIO  DEL  MARITO  32/ 

Stone,  —  that  strange  pedestal  on  which  the  star-shaped 
pyx  stood  as  on  an  altar,  glittering  in  the  sun-rays. 

He  seemed  to  see  it,  to  feel  it,  standing  there  between 
the  world  below  and  those  faint,  far  peaks.  And  the 
eyes  which  had  seen  so  much  felt  they  need  see  no  more. 

^'  Std  alerta,  Signor  !''  he  cried  jibingly,  flinging  him- 
self savagely  forward.  **  And  may  the  Lord  have  mercy 
on  your  soul,"  he  added  in  a  lower  tone  ;  as,  in  an  attack 
which  held  in  it  all  the  wildness,  the  fire,  the  passion  of 
his  youth,  he  drove  Roshan  back  a  step, — one  step 
down  the  faint  slope  on  which  he  had  counted. 

A  fierce  lunge  or  two,  a  swift  parry,  and  then,  — then 
an  inch  beyond  safety  —  given  purposely  —  yielded  room 
for  the  riposte  he  sought  from  that  other  rapier. 

It  came  with  a  quick  cry  of  triumph,  as  Roshan  felt 
that  thin,  cold  steel  slide  silently  on  through  a  dull, 
faint  resistance.  A  cry  that  ended  in  a  gasp,  as  the 
hand  which  held  the  rapier  dropped  for  a  second,  then 
flung  itself  upwards. 

For  Pidar  Narayan  had  given  the  reprise;  and  *  U  Addio 
del  Marito '  had  done  its  work. 

So,  for  an  instant — held  upright  by  the  lingering  force 
of  the  old  man's  hand  —  the  two  stood  within  a  sword's 
length,  their  faces  glaring  at  each  other,  —  stern,  im- 
placable, the  one  in  death,  the  other  still  in  life. 

Then  the  strength,  the  life,  ebbed ;  the  balance  be- 
tween it  and  death  wavered,  and  Ninian  Bruce,  over- 
borne by  his  enemy's  dead  weight,  sank  to  his  knee, 
then  backwards. 

But  his  hand  still  gripped  the  rapier.  So  Roshan 
Khan's  body,  as  it  fell  forward,  slithered  down  the 
sharp  blade,  sending  a  little  jet  of  crimson  blood  back- 
wards, till  it  stopped  with  a  dull  thud  upon  the  hilt. 

So  he  lay,  face  downwards,  beside  the  old  man,  whose 
face  looked  skyward ;  whose  head  rested  among  the 
withered  marigolds  and  the  sweet,  dead  leaves  of  the 
basil,  which  generations  and  generations  of  pilgrims  had 
offered  to  an  unknown  wisdom  on  their  way  to  the 
"Cradle  of  the  Gods." 


328  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 


CHAPTER   XXVIII 

THE   TRUTH 

"And  to  look  at  it  now,"  came  the  Commissioner's 
rich,  round  brogue,  "you  would  think  butter  wouldn't 
melt  in  its  mouth  !  " 

He  waved  the  cigar  he  was  smoking  towards  Eshwara. 
It  looked  sleepier,  more  sun-saturate  than  ever,  as  it  lay 
reflected  in  the  still  lagoon  between  it  and  the  tent  in 
which  he  was  sitting ;  a  double-poled.  Commissioner's 
tent,  which  two  days  before  had  swooped  down  like  an 
avenging  angel  with  broad  white  wings  to  take  posses- 
sion of  the  just  and  the  unjust  in  the  name  of  Victoria 
Kaiser-i-Hind. 

It  was  pitched  on  the  site  of  the  Viceroy's  camp,  for 
the  convenience  of  being  close  to  the  gaol  where  the  late 
disturbers  of  the  public  peace  had  taken  up  their  resi- 
dence. In  fact,  the  mast  from  which  the  royal  standard 
had  floated,  still  reared  itself,  bare,  undraped,  from  its 
roundel  of  roses.  But  the  flowers  were  withered,  dead. 
Even  the  palms,  their  work  of  welcome  over,  were  wilt- 
ing fast ;  but  they  still  gave  a  doubtful  shade  to  some 
groups  of  manacled  men,  who,  guarded  by  yellow-legged 
constables,  were  placidly  awaiting  the  Commissioner's 
leisure  and  pleasure ;  both  being,  at  the  time,  occupied 
with  lunch  and  Dr.  Dillon.  So,  the  wide  white  wings 
of  the  tent  being  set  open  and  supported  with  bamboos 
to  let  in  the  breeze,  the  representative  of  law  and  order 
could  be  seen  —  his  feet  on  the  table  among  his  law 
books  —  drinking  an  iced  whiskey-and-soda. 

Dr.  Dillon  —  he  looked  careworn  chiefly  because  in 
his  care  for  others  he  had,  as  yet,  been  able  to  take  no 
rest  —  nodded. 

"  Yes ;  and  it  doesn't,  as  a  rule.  A  more  peaceable 
spot  never  was.  You  can't  account  for  these  sudden 
idiotic  outbreaks.  One  reason  is  as  good  as  another. 
And  so  old  Mother  Campbell,  with  her  assertion  that  it 


THE    TRUTH  329 

all  came  because  Miss  Shepherd  would  talk  about  Jean 
Ziska's  drum  —  " 

The  Commissioner  smiled.  **  Yes,  the  good  lady  has 
an  endless  circle  of  unfounded  beliefs,  all  dependent  on 
each  other  for  support.  It's  the  most  comfortable  way 
of  getting  through  life.  An'  miracles  are  like  drams  — 
ye  can't  stop  them,  once  you  begin.  Besides,  on  me 
soul,  it  was  queer  —  even  Carlyon  said  —  " 

"And  if  it  were  true,"  interrupted  the  doctor,  "we 
shouldn't  be  any  *  forrader' !  We  shouldn't  understand. 
And  that's  our  position  now.  You  can't,  in  fact.  It's 
better  you  shouldn't ;  in  India,  at  any  rate.  Just  accept 
them,  ignore  them,  smash  them,  hush  them  up  "  — here 
his  face  clouded  —  "  and  in  this  case  there  is  a  good 
deal  that  had  better  be  kept  dark  —  you'll  do  your  best, 
I  hope .? " 

The  keen  whimsical  face  hardened.  "  I  shall  follow 
the  usual  official  routine,  sir,"  he  said  cynically ;  "  for, 
look  you,  there  never  was  a  row  like  this  in  India  but 
there  is  something  in  it  about  a  woman,  which  we've 
got  to  hush  up.  An'  that's  God's  truth.  Yes,  we  pay 
a  heavy  toll  — "  He  broke  off,  took  up  a  pen  as  if  to 
write,  threw  it  down  impatiently,  and  stared  out  into 
the  hot,  yellow  sunshine. 

Dr.  Dillon  sat  twiddling  his  mushroom  hat  round  and 
round  in  his  nervous  fingers,  and  staring  out  into  it  also. 
A  sense  of  being  face  to  face  with  an  unpleasant  truth 
was  on  them  both.     Suddenly  he  laughed  harshly. 

"We  ought  to  have  got  accustomed  to  the  fact  by 
this  time,  anyhow,"  he  said,  "for  it  began  early  enough 
in  the  history  of  man.  Well,  I'm  off ;  you  won't  want 
me,  will  you,  this  afternoon,  now  those  men  have  turned 
Queen's  evidence } " 

"  Don't  think  so.  Let's  see."  The  Commissioner 
drew  a  list  towards  him,  and  ran  his  eye  over  it.  "  I've 
condemned  three  warders  and  seven  prisoners  to  death 
for  poor  Dering's  murder ;  so  I  daresay  penal  servitude 
will  see  through  the  rest.  Then  there's  jogi  Gorakh- 
nath  and  his  gosain.     They  ought  to  be  hung,  but  we 


330  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

haven't  caught  them,  and  we  never  shall ;  the  wild  ass 
that  snuffeth  up  the  east  wind  isn't  in  it  with  a  Hindoo 
ascetic  in  eluding  captors !  So  the  lot  out  there  are 
really  small  fry ;  for  the  other  ringleaders  are  either 
dead  or  departed — even  that  amphibious  brute,  Gu-gu." 

Dr.  Dillon  looked  up  cheerfully.  "  By  George !  I'd 
have  given  something  to  see  that  water-fight  between 
him  and  Am-ma !  By  the  way,  what  are  you  going  to 
do  for  that  queer  fish  t  But  for  him,  we  would  never 
have  seen  Lance  Carlyon's  face  again." 

The  Commissioner's  expression  was  curious.  "  It's 
a  bit  hard  to  do  anything  for  a  man  who  wants  nothing 
but  earth,  air,  and  water,  and  has  got  all  three ;  be- 
sides— "  he  drew  a  paper  out  of  a  file,  looked  at  it, 
then  looked  at  the  doctor — "besides  it  wasn't  alto- 
gether Am-ma  !  "  He  paused,  smiled  an  infinitely  kind 
smile,  then  went  on  :  *'  I  was  a  brute,  entirely,  to  talk 
about  a  heavy  toll  just  now.  We  get  its  worth  back, 
me  dear  fellow,  over  and  over  again.  See !  here  is 
Am-ma's  affidavit.  I  took  it  this  morning,  and  upon 
me  soul,  Dillon,  I  should  be  obliged  if  you  would  tell 
me  whether  to  hush  it  up,  or  inform  the  party  con- 
cerned." So  saying,  his  brogue  took  possession  of  the 
sun-bright,  sun-dry  air  — 

"  I,  Am-ma,  of  the  river  folk,  solemnly  affirm  that, 
knowing  the  Dee-piik-rdg  to  be  in  the  power  of  the 
Huzoors,  I  several  times  warned  Gu-gu  not  to  follow 
other  masters.  But  he  had  learned  books,  and  be- 
come ignorant.  He  could  not  even  feel  when  a  current 
changed  its  course ;  and  then  he  thought  he  must  die, 
because  of  the  ghost,  and  that  made  him  wild.  So 
when  I  refused,  and  set  off,  as  ordained,  for  the  raft, 
he  took  the  Brahmin's  money  and  stopped  the  miracle. 
Of  a  surety,  the  Awarder  of  Justice  is  right.  This 
slave  knew  what  was  to  come.  He  did  not  tell  of  it 
because,  where  the  Dee-puk-rdg  is,  there  is  victory ;  so 
there  was  no  fear.  Yet  when  the  M\^^-sahiba  bade  me 
help  her,  I  obeyed,  because  she  has  power  over  devils, 
and  my  son,  HuzooVy  is  still  in  the  first  week  of  life. 


THE    TRUTH  33 1 

Therefore,  for  that  reason,  I  guided  the  raft.  But 
when  I  saw  that  the  Light-bringers  had  smitten  the 
darkness  of  evil-doers,  and  that  the  raft  would  be 
needed  no  more,  I  went  on  with  it  to  the  place  ap- 
pointed by  the  V^ood-wallah-sakib,  whence  it  could 
float  of  itself. 

*'  So  I  returned  to  my  home  and  ate  my  bread.  And 
the  day  was  quiet,  as  the  Huzoor  knows ;  only  the  folk 
reviled,  because  I  had  no  fish  to  sell. 

"  But,  at  night,  at  the  waning  of  the  sunset  stars, 
about  the  third  jackal  cry,  came  the  Mx^^-sahiba  to 
my  hut." 

Dr.  Dillon  ceased  twiddling  his  hat,  and  looked  up 
in  sudden  interest. 

"  To  my  hut,"  reiterated  the  reading  voice.  "  I 
deemed  it  because  of  devils  first ;  but  it  was  not.  It 
was  because  of  Carlone-^-^///^,  who  could  not  be  found, 
—  only  his  clothes  and  pistol  on  my  craft,  stranded  on 
a  sand-bank  by  the  mid-channel. 

"  *  He  has  not  been  killed,'  said  the  Wv^^-sahiba.  *  He 
would  not  have  fought  with  his  clothes  off.  Nor  did  he 
go  to  fight.  He  would  not  have  left  the  pistol  if  he 
had.  He  has  gone  swimming,  to  get  quicker  and  find 
help.  So  he  is  drowned.  He  is  in  the  river  still,  and 
I  cannot  think  of  it.  Am-ma !  you  know  every  inch 
of  the  river.     Find  him  !     Find  him  ! ' 

"  Then  I  said  :  *  Yea,  Miss-sakiba ;  I  will  find  him 
when  his  body  rises.  No  man  can  find  a  dead  one  in 
the  river  till  then.'  But,  as  I  spoke,  the  son  at  his 
mother's  breast  left  sucking,  and  cried  aloud.  The 
Miss-sahiba  said  it  was  but  the  gripes,  but  we  —  my 
house  and  I  —  knew  more  than  that.  We  knew  it  was 
the  devils,  winning  a  way  because  the  Miss  was  not  con- 
tent. So  I  said  :  *  I  will  find  him  while  his  beauty  is 
still  on  him,  for  you  to  see  again,'  —  since  that  is  in 
the  heart  of  all  women,  O  Awarder  of  Justice.  Thus 
at  the  dawn — the  dawn  after  the  dawn  of  darkness  — 
I,  Am-ma,  set  out  with  my  nets,  seeing  that  fish,  any- 
how, could  be  found,  and   the  market  would  be  dear. 


332  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

because  none  had  come  to  the  bazaar  during  the  com- 
motion. So,  remembering  where  my  craft  had  stranded, 
I  went  first  to  mid-channel ;  thus,  working  up,  came  to 
where  it  had  stranded  once  before.  Then,  seeing  foot- 
marks, I  followed  them,  till  in  an  island,  eating  his  bread, 
I  found  the  evil-begotten  Gu-gu. 

"  He  had  a  knife  in  his  bead  belt,  at  the  sight  whereof 
I  gave  glory  to  gods  and  devils  alike,  for  I  knew  the 
handle  of  it.  It  was  CdcAoxi^-sahW s  shikar  knife,  and 
I  had  been  his  shikari  many  a  time. 

*'  So  I  said,  '  Where  gottest  thou  Carlone-j^/2/^'j  knife, 
Gu-gu  } '  thinking  to  startle  him.  And  it  did.  He  said 
no  word,  but  came  at  me  with  it. 

"  So  we  fought.  His  right  hand  and  mine  on  the  knife, 
and  our  left  arms  round  each  other's  throat,  choking  us  ; 
and  our  legs  wrestling.  Till  the  water  grew  too  deep. 
Then  we  swam  with  them.  But  he  said  nothing,  nor 
did  I.  There  was  no  need.  We  understood,  as  dogs  do, 
that  it  was  foe  and  foe.  So  it  came  to  the  deep  stream  ; 
his  right  hand  and  mine,  with  the  knife  between  them, 
and  our  teeth  fixed  in  each  other's  shoulders, — till  I 
bethought  me  of  his  ear. 

"  Then  he  yelled,  and  let  go  ;  but  I  was  after  him  as  he 
dived.  It  was  a  long  race.  Wherefore  not  t  since  we 
are  the  best  swimmers  in  the  river.  But  I  felt  the  cleave 
of  the  water  from  his  foot  at  last,  and  spent  myself  in 
one  stroke.  So  I  laid  hold  of  his  leg  and  ran  my  hand 
up  till  I  found  his  back.  Then  I  used  Q2.x\ow^-sahib' s 
knife  on  him,  and  he  sank ;  and  I  sank  too,  with  the 
blow. 

"  And  when  I  came  up,  leaving  him  there,  I  found  how 
long  the  race  had  been,  for  my  right  hand  struck  the  city 
wall.  Then  it  came  to  me  what  the  M.\s?,-sahiba  had 
said,  of  CdirloxiQ-sahib  wishing  to  go  quick ;  and  I  be- 
thought me  of  the  secret  passages,  and  the  knife,  and 
Gu-gu's  fear.  And  I  said  to  myself  someone  must 
have  restored  the  miracle.  Not  Gu-gu ;  else  why  was 
he  hiding  }  What  if  it  be  C2ix\ont-sahib  f  But  most  of 
all  I  thought  of  my  little  son,  and  the  devils  longing  for 


THE    TRUTH  333 

him,  and  for  a  woman  longing  for  the  sight  of  a  man's 
beauty,  and  I  knew  I  must  go  and  see  if  it  lay  there. 
So  I  dived,  and  found  him,  as  the  Awarder  of  Justice 
knows,  sitting  high  up,  with  the  water  about  his  feet, 
waiting  for  death,  and  brought  him  back  as  I  promised. 
And  Gu-gu  is  dead,  for  his  body  was  drifting  by  the 
tunnel  with  (Z^LxXovi^-sahW s  knife  in  the  back  as  we 
came  out.  So  the  Miss  is  pleased,  and  the  devils  do  not 
come  near  my  son." 

The  brogue  ceased,  and  there  was  a  pause.  ''Well ! 
what  do  ye  say,  Dillon  t  "  asked  the  Commissioner,  fret- 
fully. 

George  Dillon  rose  and  put  on  his  hat  deliberately. 
"  Nothing.  Except  that  I  must  really  be  off.  I've  to 
see  Smith  first,  and  Carlyon  —  that  sprained  ankle  of 
his,  which  he  got  trying  to  climb  up  beyond  the  rise 
of  the  water,  will  be  the  deuce  and  all  if  he  uses  it  too 
soon.  And  then,  if  I  can,  I  want  to  get  round  and  say 
good-by  to  —  to  the  Wx^^-saJdba.  She's  off  to  Herrn- 
hut  again  this  evening.  In  fact,  Campbell  didn't  half 
like  her  waiting  for  the  funeral,  he  is  in  such  a  blessed 
hurry  to  get  to  his  new  field,  as  he  calls  it ;  thinks  of 
nothing  else.  They  are  to  be  married  on  Monday,  I 
believe." 

The  Commissioner  laid  aside  Am-ma's  affidavit  with 
a  soft  *'damn,"  and  Dr.  Dillon  paused  on  his  way  out  at 
the  sound. 

"Quite  so,  —  I  entirely  agree  with  you,"  he  said  sym- 
pathetically; ''but,  unfortunately,  there  is  only  one  per- 
son who  has  a  right  to  tell  that  story,  sir  —  and  she 
won't ! " 

"  Why  not }  "  interrupted  the  Commissioner,  militantly 
—  "why  the  blazes  shouldn't  a  woman  tell  the  truth  .? " 

"  Because  women  don't  know  it,"  broke  in  the  doctor, 
"  or  men  either,  for  that  matter.  Because  we  men  and 
women  have  got  ourselves  on  such  false  lines,  into  such 
an  absolutely  false  position  towards  each  other,  that  the 
only  course  consistent  with  propriety  and  les  convenances 
is  to — to  hush  the  thing  up  !     So  hush-a-bye  baby,  sir, 


334  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

to  your  heart's  content.  So  long  as  the  mother  can  tell 
her  blessed  infant  that  she  is  a  lady,  what  does  the  real 
fact  matter? " 

He  spoke  with  a  concentrated  bitterness,  an  almost 
fierce  resentment,  and  the  Commissioner  nodded,  fin- 
ished his  whiskey-and-soda  at  a  gulp,  and  returned  to 
work,  tossing  his  papers  about  recklessly. 

"  It's  a  quare  world,  certainly,"  he  murmured,  with 
a  lack  of  originality  which  sat  ill  on  him.  Then,  catch- 
ing sight  of  something  in  a  file,  his  humorous,  kindly 
self  returned.  **  Listen  to  this  now,  for  quareness,"  he 
laughed,  beginning  to  read  :  — 

"  *  The  petition  of  Mussumat  Mumtaza  Mahal '  — 
that's  Roshan  Khan's  grandmother,  you  know  — 
*  sister,'  etc.,  etc.,  *  humbly  sheweth  that  she  has  en- 
dured grievous  wrong  and  hurt,  by  loss  of  her  grand- 
son in  the  late  deplorable  mutiny  (of  which  she  was 
utterly  incognizant,  being  helpless,  veiled,  old  woman 
perpetually  confined  in  house).  Therefore  prayeth  that 
whereas  one  Mussumat  Ashraf-un-nissa,  her  neighbour, 
is  in  receipt  of  pension  rupees  twenty-five  per  mensem 
for  similar  bereavement  of  male  protector  and  head  of 
family  lost  in  '57  mutiny,  therefore  her  pension  of 
rupees  twenty  per  mensem,  only,  for  exile  of  husband 
to  Calcutta,  be  commuted  to  similar  sum  of  twenty- 
five,  seeing  that  your  poor  petitioner  is  in  floods  of 
tears  and  wholly  heartbroken  through  this  most  non- 
regulation,  premature  death  of  promising  young  scion 
of  her  noble  house,  on  whom,  as  on  blessed  Victoria, 
Queen,  her  hopes  were  fixed.  Said  petitioner  being  able 
to  prove  alibi,  absolute  incomplicity,  and  continuous 
remaining  at  home  during  late  devilish  disturbances.'  " 

"  Poor  old  soul !  "  laughed  the  doctor,  "  give  it  to  her 
if  you  can,  sir.  And  as  for  remaining  at  home,  every- 
body except  the  actual  conspirators  did  that.  Even 
Dya-Ram,  the  disaffected  —  though  he  has  preached 
armed  resistance  to  tyranny  in  his  paper  for  years.  He 
barricaded  himself  in  with  his  printing-press.  Fact ; 
jammed  his  fingers  in  so  doing,  and  came  to  me  in  a 


THE   TRUTH  335 

blind  funk  for  a  professional  certificate  that  the  wound 
could  not  have  been  caused  by  any  lethal  weapon.  As 
if  anyone  could  ever  have  suspected  him  of  taking  part 
in  raising  a  row,  or  even  in  settling  one  !  His  sort  are 
simply  negligible  quantities." 

"  But  Ramanund  seems  to  have  attempted  a  lead," 
put  in  the  Commissioner,  judicially. 

"Exactly.  Attempted,  and  failed.  His  sort  are 
negligible  quantities  also,  sir,  I'm  sorry  to  say,  and 
will  remain  so  until  they  learn,  amongst  other  know- 
ledge, to  believe  in  something  besides  themselves  — " 
here  the  hard  eyes  softened,  the  hard  voice  paused. 
'*  That  is  another  thing  I  should  like  to  have  seen  — 
dear  old  Pidar  Narayan  —  " 

The  hard  voice  found  even  softness  too  loud ;  and  in 
the  silence  which  fell  between  the  two  men,  only  the 
Commissioner's  pen  could  be  heard. 

"  You'll  look  in  at  the  palace,  perhaps,  and  see  all  is 
right,"  came  the  brogue,  after  a  bit,  "and  give  my  love 
to  old  Smith.  I'm  not  sure  but  that  I'd  rather  have 
seen  him  behind  the  door  than  anything  else,  for  it 
must  have  been  the  hardest  job  —  " 

"  Considering  the  circumstances,  yes ! "  put  in  the 
doctor ;  so,  with  the  pith  hat  turning  him  into  an  ani- 
mated mushroom,  he  passed  out  into  the  blaze  of  dry 
yellow  sunshine,  on  that  dry  yellow  sand. 

The  sky  above  was  molten  with  light  and  heat,  the 
gaol  positively  shimmered  in  the  glare.  Not  a  sound,  not 
a  sight,  told  of  that  midsummer  night's  dream  of  wild, 
useless  revolt,  save  when  one  of  the  shackled  prisoners 
awaiting  trial  sought  a  better  bit  of  shade  under  the 
wilted  palms,  which,  not  a  week  before,  had  welcomed 
the  Hosts  of  the  l^ox^-sahib  on  their  way  to  the  hills. 

The  whole  thing  seemed  incredible  ;  yet,  as  he  crossed 
the  road  to  enter  the  Smiths'  compound,  the  footsteps 
of  those  other  Hosts  who  had  passed  on  to  the  hills 
also  remained  to  dimple  the  dry  yellow  sand. 

The  Smiths'  bungalow  lay  calm,  peaceful ;  the  drawing- 
room,  as  he  entered  it,  struck  him  with  the  old,  familiar 


336  THE  HOSTS  OF  THE  LORD 

sense  of  refinement,  indexing  the  refinement  of  its  mis- 
tress. Only  one  change  caught  his  observant  eyes. 
Vincent  Bering's  photograph  was  no  longer  on  the 
mantle-piece,  whence  it  had  always  looked  out  with  a 
certain  challenge  in  its  very  prominence.  Where  had  it 
gone?  What  matter.!^  There  was  no  need  for  such 
defiance  now,  thought  George  Dillon,  with  that  curious 
half-cynical,  half-resentful  smile  he  kept  for  one  subject 
only.  She  might  keep  the  photograph  where  she  chose, 
now,  and  none  would  blame  her. 

So  thinking,  he  set  aside  the  curtain  which  hung  at 
his  patient's  door,  and  as  he  did  so,  resentment,  cynicism, 
vanished  in  quick  sympathy. 

**Ah!  fever  again,  I  see,  —  that's  a  bore,"  he  said, 
going  over  swiftly  to  the  bed  where  Eugene  Smith's 
long  length  lay  visibly  shivering;  for  something, — the 
exposure,  the  excitement,  the  strain,  perhaps,  of  that 
awful  inaction  behind  the  door  against  which  Vincent 
Bering  was  making  that  heroic  stand,  —  had  knocked 
the  big  man  over,  a  prey  to  an  old  enemy- — malarial 
fever.     "  When  did  it  come  on  .?" 

Muriel  Smith,  who  sat  on  the  bed,  her  hand  in  one 
of  her  husband's  shaking,  trembling  ones,  looked  up. 
She  was  very  pale,  but  very  calm. 

"  Half  an  hour  ago.  It  is  a  pity.  We  hoped  it  was 
broken,  didn't  we .''  But  he  will  fret  himself  so.  Doc- 
tor—  "  Her  eyes,  on  Br.  Billon's,  were  teUing  their 
tale,  so  that  it  scarcely  needed  the  rambling,  quivering 
voice  to  show  that  the  fresh  onset  of  fever  had  once 
more  clouded  the  sick  man's  brain. 

"  How  can  a  fellow  help  fretting,"  murmured  Eugene, 
his  teeth  chattering,  '*  when  he  waits  like  a  coward  be- 
hind a  door,  where  his  best  friend  —  " 

The  woman  beside  him  winced,  but  interrupted  him 
bravely.  **  But  I  tell  him,  Boctor  —  and  it's  true,  isn't 
it.?  —  that  it  was  hardest  for  him — and  that  —  that 
Vincent  would  rather  have  had  it  so  —  because  he 
had  to  leave  no  one,  and  Eugene  had  Gladys  —  and 
me." 


THE    TRUTH  337 

Her  voice  seemed  to  bring  comfort,  and  the  glisten- 
ing, feverish  eyes  closed. 

"  Go  on  with  the  mixture,"  said  the  doctor,  vexedly 
conscious  of  a  lump  in  his  throat.  "This  will  wear 
itself  out  in  a  day  or  two;  and  —  you  can't  do  more 
than  you're  doing." 

"  I  suppose  not,"  she  replied  listlessly. 

But  the  tragedy  of  her  face  remained  in  his  memory 
as  he  drove  over  the  creaking,  groaning  bridge  to  Esh- 
wara.  The  bazaar  was  full  as  ever  with  drifting  hu- 
manity, busy  in  the  details  of  every-day  life.  There 
was  no  hint  anywhere  of  the  past  storm ;  not  even  in 
the  palace.  It  lay,  as  ever,  silent  ;  its  blank  walls  seem- 
ing to  hold  the  sunlight  back  from  some  secret  within, 
— from  some  veiled,  hidden  beauty.  The  door  was 
closed,  but  old  Akbar  Khan  came  capering  at  his  call, 
his  back  roached,  in  bowing,  like  a  caterpillar's. 

"The  tomb  is  finished,  Ge-reeb-pun-wdz,''  he  mumbled, 
in  blubbering  importance.  '^Ala!  the  sad  day!  But 
this  slave,  knowing  all  customary  things,  hath  remained 
insistent  on  the  workmen  ;  therefore  all  is  befitting  the 
noble  people,  as  the  Huzoor  will  see." 

So,  down  the  shadowy  passage  he  led  the  way,  crab- 
like, to  the  chapel ;  for  hither,  long  years  before,  Father 
Ninian  had  brought  the  body  of  Pietro  Bonaventura, 
and  here,  just  in  front  of  the  Altar  steps,  he  and  Pietro's 
granddaughter  —  the  last  of  the  old  priest's  charges, — 
had  been  buried  the  day  before.  The  masons  had  been 
busy,  building  up  the  vault  again  ;  but,  as  Akbar  Khan 
had  said,  the  work  was  finished,  the  chapel  restored  to 
its  original  state,  swept,  and  garnished.  Even  the  can- 
dles were  lit  on  the  Altar,  and  four  of  the  tallest  tapers 
had  been  placed,  one  at  each  corner  of  the  stone  slab 
on  which  two  more  names  would  have  to  be  cut ;  while 
from  these  tapers  long  strings  of  jasmine  flowers,  such 
as  native  women  wear,  had  been  hung  in  drooping  chains 
to  form  an  enclosure.  On  the  slab  itself  great  bossed 
yellow  marigolds  were  laid  to  simulate  a  cross. 

Dr.  Dillon  turned  to  the  cringing  figure  beside  him 


338  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

sharply ;  but  there  was  something  ahnost  pathetic  in  its 
simper  of  conscious  merit,  its  certainty  of  satisfaction. 

*'  Did  you  do  that  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Ge-reeb-pun-wdz  !  " 

There  was  a  world  of  pride  and  of  servitude  in  the 
voice,  and  in  the  folded,  prayerful  hands  which  shot  out 
under  the  bowings. 

"This  slave  made  it!  The  Huzoor  will  notice  it  i^ 
fitting.  Even  the  *  crass'  —  "  he  pointed  his  prayerful 
hands  to  the  marigolds —  *'is  not  forgotten.  Has  not 
this  dust-like  one  spent  his  life  in  preparing  amusements 
and  spectacles  for  the  noble  people  .-*  He  knows  that 
tombs  require  flowers,  as  women  do." 

Through  the  arches  behind  the  old  pantaloon  Dr. 
Dillon  could  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  garden,  ablaze  with 
colour,  could  smell  the  perfume  of  the  now  fading  orange- 
blossoms,  could  see  the  water-maze,  with  its  marble  ledges, 
among  the  lotus,  just  wide  enough  for  the  flying  feet  of 
a  laughing  girl. 

The  words,  the  contrast,  held  him,  as  the  old  man 
went  on  with  an  orthodox  whine  of  petition  in  his 
voice:  — 

"  So,  since  the  Sirkar  will  doubtless  appoint  a  guar- 
dian of  tombs,  seeing  there  is  none  to  inherit  the  pal- 
ace, if  the  Protector  of  the  Poor  would  intercede  for 
this  slave  with  the  Commissioner.'*  —  if  the  Htizoor 
would  say  that  the  dust-like  one  has  provided  the  pleas- 
ures of  palaces  all  his  life  long  for  the  noble  people ; 
yea !  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave.  If  he  will  say 
that  — "  he  flourished  his  hands  towards  the  slab  — 
"  both  in  the  making  of  garlands  and  the  making  of 
^  crasseSy    there  is  none  equal  —  " 

"  For  tombs  require  flowers^  as  women  do  !  "  The 
phrase  asserted  itself  again,  and  Dr.  Dillon  looked  at 
the  wicked  old  face,  so  comic,  so  pathetic,  with  the 
hopeless  recognition  of  the  humour  of  tragedy  which 
comes  to  all  save  the  invincibly  dull. 

"  You  would  do  as  well  as  anyone,"  he  said  gravely. 
"  I'll  mention  your  name." 


THE   TRUTH  339 

^^Ge  —  reeb  — pun  —  waz  !  "  The  title  prolonged  itself 
abnormally,  and  Akbar  Khdn,  a  mask  of  toothless 
smiles,  darted,  in  instant  assumption  of  his  anticipated 
office,  to  remove  a  fallen  jasmine  flower  from  Dr.  Dil- 
lon's path  as  if  it  had  been  a  deadly  reptile.  Indeed, 
he  paused  in  the  midst  of  his  parting  salaams  to  ask 
if  it  was  in  order  that  the  populace  be  admitted  to  the 
sanctuary,  since  the  7nissen-miss  (his  accent  of  disdain, 
tempered  by  reverence,  was  delicious)  had  announced 
her  desire  to  enter  it  that  afternoon  for  farewell ;  had, 
indeed,  asked  him  to  be  there  at  four  to  open  the 
door. 

Dr.  Dillon  turned  so  sharply  that  the  old  courtier 
began  instantly  on  asseverations  that,  without  orders  — 

"Have  everything  ready,  of  course,"  interrupted  the 
doctor,  impatiently ;  so  strode  off  across  the  courtyard, 
his  head  down,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  with  a  jerk, 
as  of  irritation,  in  his  walk. 

He  found  Lance  Carlyon  in  the  balcony  over  the 
river,  very  apologetic  at  being  caught  there  against 
orders.  But  it  was  so  dreary  keeping  to  one's  room, 
he  said ;  especially  when  there  were  a  lot  of  dismal 
things  to  think  about ;  and  he  really  had  been  most 
careful  —  had  made  two  of  his  pioneers  almost  carry 
him. 

"  Doesn't  seem  to  have  done  much  harm  !  "  admitted 
the  doctor,  gruffly,  as  he  sat  feeling  the  ankle  and  look- 
ing at  Lance  with  the  oddest  air  of  impatience,  irrita- 
tion, and  kindliness.  Yet  there  was  nothing  strange  in 
Lance's  wholesome  young  face,  save  that  it  showed  a 
little  older,  a  little  graver. 

"It  mtist  be  beastly  dull,  too,"  went  on  the  doctor, 
loudly,  suddenly.  "You  —  you  might  get  them  to  help 
you  over  to  the  palace  garden  this  afternoon ;  about 
four,  you  know,  when  it  gets  cool.  That  would  be  a 
change." 

Lance  positively  gasped.  "  Rath-er !  Why  !  you  told 
me  yesterday  I  wasn't  to  move  a  muscle  for  ten  days ! " 

Dr.  Dillon  positively  blushed,  under  the  brown.     He 


340  THE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

got  up  vexedly,  walked  to  the  parapet,  looked  down  the 
river  towards  the  mission  house,  and  came  back  again. 

**  No  more  you  are  !  "  he  said  fiercely.  '*  Not  what 
yoiL  call  moving.  But  gentle  exercise  and  —  and  con- 
genial society  —  and  all  that!  You  know  the  treat- 
ment !  Besides  the  Hutton-Wharton-Hood  school  don't 
believe  in  rest.  And  —  and — look  here!  —  I'll  put 
you  on  the  stiffest  starch  bandage  ever  made — and  — 
Oh !  confound  it,  man,  one  must  risk  something  some- 
times, you  know  !  Here,  orderly  ;  go  over  to  the  sahib 's 
washerman  and  tell  him  to  make  me  double-extra- white- 
shirt-front-starch,  and  if  that  doesn't  counteract  the  — 
the  indiscretion  —  why  —  why  —  I  wash  my  hands  of  the 
whole  business  ! " 

He  was  at  work  undoing  the  bandages  already,  and 
the  last  part  of  his  remarks  came,  argumentatively,  to 
himself. 

"  If  you  really  think  it  might  injure  me  permanently," 
began  Lance,  soberly,  in  some  surprise. 

Dr.  Dillon  paused,  and  looked  up  with  a  vast  resent- 
ment. "If  you  mean  your  foot,  I  don't  think  it  will, 
and  that's  all  I'm  responsible  for  —  thank  God !  " 

But  as,  half  an  hour  after  this,  he  came  out  from  say- 
ing good-by  to  Erda  Shepherd,  he  paused  as  he  passed 
the  Pool  of  Immortality,  and  looked  down  into  it  as  if 
he  felt  some  need  of  salvation. 

'^^  If  I  be  not  damned  for  this  !'''  he  quoted  softly, 
shook  his  head,  and  went  back  to  his  prisoners. 

So  it  came  to  pass  that  when  Erda  Shepherd — after 
laying  the  wreath  she  had  brought  as  a  sort  of  crown  to 
Akbar  Khan's  ^ crass' — went  into  the  garden  for  a  last 
look  at  the  familiar  places,  she  found  Lance  Carlyon 
comfortably  settled  in  one  of  the  balconies  overhanging 
the  river. 

"This  is  luck!"  he  cried,  forgetting  the  starched 
bandage  until  reminded  of  it  by  a  sudden  twinge  of  pain. 
"I  thought  I  was  never  to  see  you  again,  and  it  seemed 
a  bit  rough  —  on  —  on  us  both  ;  considering  what  a  lot 
we  did  together,  you  know.     I've  been  writing  you  a 


THE    TRUTH  34 1 

letter,  to  say  how  disappointed  I  was  at  not  being  able 
to  get  over  and  see  you  all  this  morning." 

"That  was  very  kind  of  you,"  she  said  feebly,  con- 
scious that  the  surprise  had  made  her  feel  a  little  limp. 
Though,  of  course,  she  regretted  nothing;  nothing  at 
all! 

"I've  been  wanting  to  know  such  a  lot,"  he  went  on. 
"  Of  course  I  heard  about  the  others,  but  not  about  you 
—  you  needn't  go  away  immediately,  need  you  .-^ "  he 
asked,  as  he  watched  her  face,  —  "if  —  if  you  could  stop 
a  bit,  it  would  be  so  jolly." 

The  frank  wistfulness  of  his  tone  was  too  much  for 
her.  "Yes!  I  can  stop,"  she  said  quietly;  "what  is  it 
you  want  to  know  t  " 

"  Lots  of  things  ;  but  about  yourself  first  of  all!  " 

Herself  !  That  would  be  the  hardest  task,  she  felt ; 
and  the  memory  of  that  senseless  flight  from  her  own 
reflection  in  the  mirror  came  back  to  bring  a  quick  flush 
to  her  cheek. 

"Of  course,  if  you'd  rather  not  —  "  began  observant 
Lance. 

"  I  was  only  thinking  there  was  very  little  to  tell," 
she  put  in  quickly.  She  was  not  even  going  to  allow 
that,  in  keeping  this  incident  to  herself,  she  was  giving 
it  any  importance.  She  had  told  herself  during  the  last 
few  days  that  it  had  been  unfortunate,  that  was  all. 
Otherwise  it  was  trivial ;  since  it  did  not,  could  not,  alter 
her  decision.  On  the  contrary,  it  strengthened  it ;  just 
as  a  temptation  resisted  always  strengthened  that 
resistance. 

So,  in  the  balcony  where  lovers  had  sat  and  talked  of 
love,  those  two  sat  talking  of  that  midsummer  night's 
dream,  of  everything  but  love.  Of  Vincent  Bering's 
song,  of  the  raft,  of  Lance's  experience  as  he  clung  to 
the  highest  crevice,  and  felt  the  water  stop  steady  be- 
tween his  knee  and  his  ankle.  Of  his  incredulity  when 
Am-ma  appeared,  and  his  immediate  lapse  into  uncon- 
sciousness ;  chiefly,  he  supposed,  because  there  was  no 
need  for  further  endurance.     Of  how  he  had  no  notion 


342  THE  HOSTS   OF   THE  LORD 

of  anything  till  he  found  himself  lying  on  a  string  bed 
in  the  sun,  right  away  on  the  other  side  of  the  town, 
whither  Am-ma  had  brought  him,  by  Heaven  knows 
what  secret  passage. 

So,  as  the  shadows  grew  long,  they  seemed  to  invade 
Lance's  face,  and  bring  a  doubt  to  it. 

"  I  haven't  seen  Am-ma  since,"  he  said,  "  so  I  haven't 
found  out  yet  why  on  earth  he  came  to  look  for  me } " 

Erda  rose  and  held  out  her  hand.  "We  were  all 
looking  for  you,  Mr.  Carlyon,"  she  said  quietly,  "and 
we  were  all  very  glad  to  find  you.  And  —  and  I  am 
very  sorry  to  —  to  lose  you." 

He  rose  too,  stiffly,  and,  taking  her  hand,  held  it  while 
he  looked  into  her  face  steadily. 

"Good-by,  Miss  Shepherd  —  I'm  —  I'm  sorry  it  has 
to  be  that  —  but  you  know  best.  And  thank  you  for 
telling  me  —  so  much."  He  paused,  and  his  hand 
tightened  on  hers  a  little.  "Thanks  all  round,  for 
that!  It  has  been  the  truth  between  us,  hasn't  it, 
always.?  And  so  —  though  it  has  been  a  bit  rough  — 
Good-by ! " 

There  was  a  pause,  a  curious  pause. 

"  Good-by,"  she  echoed  dully,  her  face  grown  very 
pale.  His  hand  left  hers  gently.  She  turned  and  faced 
the  garden,  where  the  shadows  were  invading  the  blaze 
of  colour,  and  the  coming  cool  was  sending  the  scent  of 
the  orange-blossoms  into  the  air.  The  water-maze,  with 
its  marble  ledges,  where  there  was  but  room  for  the  feet 
of  a  laughing  girl,  lay  still  and  glistening  before  her. 
The  palace,  with  its  fanciful  nooks,  its  illogical  recesses, 
its  suggestion  of  elusive  pleasures  beyond  the  pale  of 
solid  reality,  rose  up  into  the  sky. 

And  something  in  the  scene  came  home  to  her  with 
the  sense  that  all  this,  in  its  way,  was  real  also.  That 
this  was  part  of  the  truth.  The  truth  which  she  had 
not  told. 

"/^  has  been  the  truth  between  us,  hasnt  it,  always  ?  " 

She  turned  suddenly  to  where  Lance  stood  ;  turned  to 
find  him  leaning  over  the  balcony,  looking  down  into 


THE   TRUTH  343 

the  water  with  a  listlessness  he  had  held  in  check  till 
then  ;  and  a  great  wave  of  remorse  swept  through  her. 

**  It  has  not  been  the  truth  between  us ! "  she  cried 
impulsively,  recklessly  —  "  not  quite  —  but,  I  will  tell  it 
now  — if  you  like." 

He  looked  up,  startled.  **  If  you  think  I  —  I  ought  to 
know." 

She  gave  a  queer,  half-impatient  laugh.  "  Ought ! 
How  do  I  know.?  Yes!  I  suppose  so  —  as  it's  true  — 
absolutely  true.     I  can't  help  that,  can  1 1 " 

There  was  a  forlornness  in  the  confession ;  almost  a 
despair. 

"Then  tell  me,  please,"  said  Lance,  deliberately  mak- 
ing room  for  her  to  lean  over  the  balustrade  beside  him. 
His  heart  was  beating  fast  at  something  in  her  face,  and 
yet  his  uppermost  thought  was  for  her  ;  for  that  forlorn- 
ness, that  despair.  "  I  can  forget  it  afterwards  —  if  you 
want  me  to,"  he  added  consolingly. 

She  came  to  the  place  beside  him,  and  looked  down, 
hiding  her  face  from  all  but  the  sliding  river;  and  he, 
seeing  her  desire,  looked  into  it  also. 

**It  was  about  my  starting  on  the  raft,"  she  began 
with  a  little  sob.  **  I  didn't  tell  you  the  truth  about 
that.  I  —  I  didn't  come  to  give  the  warning  at  first  — 
I  —  I  was  coming  to  you." 

"  Yes  !  "  he  said  quietly  ;  but  his  hand  found  hers  and 
held  it.     "  You  were  coming  to  me,  dear,  —  why  }  " 

That  touch  seemed  at  once  to  help  her,  and  to  make 
her  desperate. 

"  Because  —  oh.  Lance  !  it  was  so  foolish  !  I  saw 
myself  in  the  glass  —  all  in  white  with  the  orange  in  my 
hand  —  and  I  thought  of  you — of  what  you  said  —  of  — 
of  the  World's  Desire,  and  —  and  I  felt  I  couldn't  —  so 
—  so  I  was  coming  to  you  —  first  —  when  Am-ma  — 
don't  you  see  —  " 

There  was  a  long  pause.  His  hand,  firm,  strong,  did 
not  tighten,  it  simply  held  hers  as  they  both  looked 
down  on  the  sliding  river. 

"  Thanks  !  "  he  said  after  a  time  ;  and  then  there  was 


344  I^HE  HOSTS   OF  THE  LORD 

another  pause  until  he  added,  "  It  will  be  a  bit  rough, 
I'm  afraid,  on  the  Reverend  David,  but  I  don't  see  how 
we  can  help  that  — do  you  ?  " 

And  this  time  his  clasp  tightened.  Erda  said  noth- 
ing ;  she  felt  there  was  nothing  more  to  say,  now  that 
the  truth  had  been  told  between  them.  So  while  the 
sinking  sun  flared  red  on  the  "  Cradle  of  the  Gods " 
another  man  and  woman  consoled  themselves  for  the 
lost  Paradise. 


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